


Misfortune Favors the Brave

by Engineer104



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: (unless it triggers you in which case definitely talk to me first), Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Assassination Attempt(s), Canon Compliant, Drama & Romance, F/M, Flashbacks, Fluff, Fortune Telling, Friends to Lovers, Future Fic, Implied Sexual Content, Major Character Injury, Mutual Pining, Non-Graphic Violence, One Night Stands, Somewhat??, Suggestive Themes, Weddings, because i can't help myself, dunno which so we're going with both, every other chapter specifically, how can it be major character death AND have a happy ending you ask??, i'm iffy on tagging allurance because it's Temporary but fairly significant so, if you're not mad at Lance by the end of chapter two then i'm doing something wrong, read and find out
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-25
Updated: 2018-10-28
Packaged: 2019-07-15 11:19:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 26,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16062026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Engineer104/pseuds/Engineer104
Summary: Foreknowledge of a death doesn't make it any easier to prevent, but Lance is determined to try.Even if it means breaking Pidge's heart.





	1. Five Years Ago

**Author's Note:**

> i had the concept of this fic in my head for a while but it wasn't working out till i (kind of) swapped Lance's and Pidge's roles and set it in post-canon SO that was a happy coincidence. the result is, of course, an angst-fest, but tbh it's probably no more angsty than the original would've been
> 
> (it is, however, more angsty than the first version of Chapter Three...which i'm currently rewriting ~~still~~. of course, this just means i'll have some fluffy outtakes to post after this fic *wink wink*)
> 
> also as usual i have [rueitae](rueitae.tumblr.com/) to thank for beta reading and general encouragement
> 
> in any case, enjoy!! <3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance should know that anything that looks like a Dementor is bad news.

“We deserve a break,” Lance pronounced after a varga of combing a Lichtian market. Dozens of beings from as many races stood outside tents woven of colorful and varied fabrics, hawking their wares and attempting to attract the attention of any potential customer.

Naturally, they searched for one in particular, and Lance had to content himself with tent-window-shopping while Keith’s vision _probably_ tunneled.

“No, we don’t,” Keith said, _shockingly_. He checked something in the cuff of his Marmora suit, gaze scanning the surrounding tents.

“Get your spare hardware here!” an Olkari missing an arm shouted from thick canvas tent with echo cubes painted on it. “We’ve got outdated Galra drones, processing units from sentries, extension cables compatible with all different outlets…”

Lance perked up, mentally counting the GAC he brought with him as his eyes caught on the table spread with technological thingamajigs. Maybe he could buy something for Pidge; she still seemed a little down after her father’s departure to Earth…

“What are you doing?” Keith asked, keeping pace with Lance as he meandered towards the spare parts dealer. “Did you forget that we’re on a _mission_?”

“Can’t with you harping on about it,” Lance whined, rolling his eyes. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the wad of cash that Coran had slipped him before he left the Castle for Lichtia.

“Lance,” Keith hissed, “that money is for the _bribe_ that we’re probably going to have to pay the informant.”

“Relax,” Lance told him, already rubbing his chin and examining the table’s contents. Perhaps Pidge needed a cable with an outlet that resembled the antler of a moose? “I’ll just shave a little off the top and it’ll be like we didn’t spend anything.”

“What if this guy tries to rip us off?” Keith wondered, gesturing at the Olkari seller raising his single arm to offer a wave.

“Please,” Lance said. He flashed the Olkari a grin before turning to Keith and pressing his thumb into his chest. “I’m an _expert_ haggler.”

“Really,” Keith deadpanned, but Lance was no longer paying attention.

He picked up a…laser pointer? No, wait, it singed the grass underfoot where he pointed it so maybe it wasn’t the best thing to buy.

Besides, Pidge could probably build something better with her eyes closed and her hands tied behind her back.

“What’re you looking for?” the Olkari asked him, perking up at Lance’s obvious interest.

“So…” Lance stuffed his hands - and his money - into his pockets, slouching slightly and determined not to look too interesting. “Nothing in particular, although this…item”—he picked up an object that looked just like a silicon chip—”caught my eye. How much for it?”

“A thousand GAC,” the Olkari said.

“A steal!” Lance said.

“We’re only carrying _ten_ thousand GAC, Lance,” Keith grumbled, standing to the side with his arms crossed.

Lance shot him a glare - his mutinous comments would _ruin_ his attempt at bargaining - but pleasantly told the seller, “Surely you can do better than that?”

The Olkari rested his hand on the table, tapping his fingers, and confessed, “I don’t haggle. You pay the price I offer you, or you don’t buy.”

Lance blinked, stunned. “But everyone haggles at places like this!”

“Not on Lichtia.” The Olkari grinned and added, “It’s illegal.”

His jaw dropped. “What is this, _America_? How can you not _haggle_?”

“Well—”

“For quiznak’s sake!” Keith slammed his hands on the table and glared at the seller. “Either sell him something cheap that he can give to his sulking girlfriend, or kick him out so we can get on with our objective.”

“I’m not getting something _cheap_ for _Pidge_!” Lance snapped, scowling at Keith. “She deserves—” He cut himself off the instant his brain processed all of his words. “Pidge isn’t my girlfriend. And how the quiznak did you know I wanted to buy something for her?”

Keith raised an eyebrow at him. “Why else would you get distracted by scraps of old tech?”

“Because—”

Lance was spared the mad scramble for an excuse by the Olkari seller interrupting, “Do you want to buy something, or are you just wasting my time?”

“We’re very sorry about that,” Keith said, grabbing Lance’s arm and towing him away.

Lance, too stunned by Keith’s words - Pidge? His _girlfriend_? - allowed it until they once more fought the mixed crowd of shoppers milling around the market. He wrenched his arm from Keith’s grip and said, “You could’ve given me a few more ticks.”

“It would’ve taken you longer just to pick your jaw up off the floor,” Keith complained.

Lance ignored that and instead wondered, “What makes you think Pidge is my girlfriend?”

(Was that what Allura thought too? Was that why she paid him less attention and why she fell into Lotor’s arms so easily? _Did_ he behave any differently around Pidge? Seriously, what the quiznak would’ve given _anyone_ the impression that he’d be into _Pidge_?)

“I don’t know,” Keith said, shrugging. “It just always seemed like there was…something.”

His eyes bugged as he stared incredulously at him. “But…I have a crush on Allura, man.”

Somehow, his eyes widened even more. A groan escaped him as he covered his hot face with his arm; he’d _never_ admitted that aloud, and to confess it to _Keith_ , of all people…

Well, stranger things had happened, including Keith thinking Lance and _Pidge_ were an item.

(Which was absolutely _absurd_ …right?)

“Wait, you do?” Keith frowned. “Really?”

“Yes, _really_ ,” Lance bit, glowering at Keith from over his sleeve. “Thought it was kind of obvious…”

“No, not really.” Keith shifted his feet and sighed. “You’re kind of…some things you do are hard to take seriously.”

“Wow, thanks, man,” he retorted, lowering his arm and rolling his eyes.

“Also,” Keith added, rubbing his neck and ignoring Lance’s sarcasm, “I haven’t been around much to notice.”

“Great,” Lance said, “because that means you haven’t been there to notice her and Lotor making eyes at each other.”

Keith’s brow quirked. “Allura and Lotor?”

“Yeah, Allura and _Prince_ Lotor.” Lance scuffed his feet on the ground, then, desperate to change the subject, picked up their pace. “Let’s go bribe your informant.”

Keith smiled - a rare occurrence, really - gratefully, but for all Lance’s efforts he couldn’t shake the bleak direction his thoughts turned. They spiraled, and he began to wonder what Allura saw in Lotor that she didn’t see in him.

Was it his long, thick hair? Lance ran his fingers through his own, the strands prickly to the touch, yet soft.

Was it his _accent_? Quiznak, Lance could affect a fake British accent - albeit not as convincingly as his American TV one - if he had to.

(Why did Lotor have a British accent anyway? What was _up_ with the Lions’ translators?)

Or was it his power and influence? Like Lance could pull an empire out of his pocket!

The most complicated magic trick he mastered required a deck of cards, and he’d yet to find one out here in space.

(Oddly enough, he’d learned card tricks to impress a girl too…)

So lost in the depths of his mind was Lance that he didn’t notice that Keith had halted until he bumped into him.

“Why did you stop?” Lance asked, glancing between Keith…and the bare plot of earth that lay before them.

They stood on the outskirts of the market, where the tents sat further apart and the crowd didn’t press so closely. Only a few people shopped here, from tents whose wares - mostly clothes and other garments - were shabbier than at the center.

And this bare pile of earth where no grass grew bore a few distinct _holes_ where a tent’s poles would’ve been buried.

Keith paced in front of the square patch, an agitated frown on his face. “Where did he _go_?” he asked. “He was supposed to be here.”

“Maybe he found a better place?” Lance suggested. His hands returned to his pockets, his brain distracted by the new mystery.

“The Lichtian government bans the sort of stuff he sells from being distributed anywhere near the center of the market,” Keith said. He rubbed his temples as if he had a headache coming on.

“What does he sell?” Lance said, unsure he wanted to know as his heart sunk.

“Refined quintessence stolen from the Galra Empire.”

Lance sucked in a breath and let it back out in a low whistle. “How did he get something like that?”

“I don’t know,” Keith admitted. “That’s something I wanted to ask.”

“Well…” Lance’s gaze swiveled from their vacant destination back towards the other, more distant tents. “Maybe one of them saw where he went?”

Keith ignored him at first, stirring up loose soil with his toes. Small clouds of dust billowed from the ground, and he sighed and said, “He left a while ago. I can’t feel _anything_.”

“Uh… _feel_?” Lance crossed his arms and raised a brow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I just get a sense whenever I’m near someone or something with a lot of quintessence,” Keith explained. “I don’t know how or why, but the fact that I’m getting nothing from here means he’s been gone a long time.”

“Hey, is this how you found the Blue Lion?” Lance realized.

“Yes…and you made fun of me for it.”

“You have to admit it was funny at the time,” Lance said with a half-hearted shrug.

“Only to you,” Keith said. His posture faltered, eyes downcast, and he turned to head back in the direction they came. “Let’s go; I’ll have to report to Kolivan that this was a bad tip.”

“Okay,” Lance agreed, despite his misgivings, “but I still think we should ask around, Keith.”

They’d scarcely stepped foot back into the midst of the most crowded part of the market when Keith paused, his face lifting and head turning, eyes wide. His nose didn’t twitch though, much to Lance’s disappointment.

“All right, boy,” Lance teased, “what’ve you scented?”

Keith rolled his eyes but otherwise didn’t deign to rise to the provocation. “Someone…” He trailed off, wandering away.

Lance quickly lost sight of him in the milling crowd, and as he pushed through them, struggling through the hot press of bodies - even cold-blooded races roasted under two suns - he sought for any sign of where Keith had gone, his heart pounding because Shiro would _murder_ him and Kolivan would resurrect him just to murder him _again_ if he didn’t bring back Keith.

Maybe he found a knife-dealer and wanted to trade in his Marmora blade for a newer model…

As he squeezed between two neon-green aliens with a semi-solid gelatinous form, he bumped headlong into Keith himself.

“What the quiznak, man?” Lance demanded, bending over and panting in an effort to catch his breath. “Don’t disappear like that!”

“Sorry,” Keith said very unapologetically.

Lance straightened and prodded a finger into Keith’s chest. “That better have been worth the heart attack you gave me.”

“I didn’t find much,” Keith said, frowning. “The…being I sensed is just a fortuneteller.”

“A…really?” Lance’s irritation evaporated, excitement taking root instead. “Hey, know what will make this trip worth our while?”

“No.”

“Come on, Keith!” He slung an arm around his shoulders and said, “Where was this fortuneteller? I want to learn the good stuff:  will I have a monument built in my name? Do I inherit my papi’s receding hairline? Does Allura fall in love with me?” He tugged Keith in a random direction since he didn’t steer them himself. “Isn’t there something _you_ want to know about your future?”

“I think I’d rather be surprised,” Keith gritted out, “but if _you_ want to waste Coran’s money on something dumb, be my guest.”

“Perfect!” Lance let Keith direct him to the right tent, a vivid purple monstrosity with a yellow streamer hanging limply from its pole. And unlike the majority of the market, shoppers gave it a wide berth.

“Didn’t you know, Keith? Knowledge is power, and if I know my future, that gives me power, right?”

“Did Pidge tell you that?” Keith said, his eyes narrowed.

“Please, it’s not like I need Pidge to tell me _everything_.” Lance rolled his eyes. “She’d…just call me a goofball or something and have done with it.” His excited grin faltered, a pit in his stomach, but he tried to shake off the sudden moroseness with the promise of learning some juicy tidbits about his future. “Wish me luck,” he said, waving over his shoulder at Keith once he stood in front of the tent’s closed flap.

“Luck,” Keith mumbled, so quietly Lance almost didn’t catch it.

Lance reached for the tent’s flap, only for it to lift without his prompting, his breath catching in his throat at the sight of the fortuneteller. 

They stood tall, with gleaming yellow pupil-less eyes the only thing visible from underneath a simple mask woven of what looked like dead vines. A tattered cloak draped their slender body, an emaciated hand peeking out from a billowing sleeve, and a hoarse voice croaked, “You seek wisdom from your future?”

“N-not how I would’ve p-put it,” Lance replied, forcing a sheepish grin onto his face.

The fortuneteller stepped - or glided, for the cloak hid their feet, if they had any - away from Lance and further into the shadowed depths of the tent. Lance followed, the tent flap dropping of its own accord behind him.

It plunged them into darkness, the only source of light the fortuneteller’s glowing eyes, and a chill fell over him, making him shiver. 

Lance’s heart pounded, filling the eerie and insulated silence of the tent, no sound from beyond it penetrating. “So…uh, do you…read my palm?” he wondered, wincing when his voice almost _echoed_ throughout the space.

(What was this tent even _made_ of?)

“That won’t be necessary,” the fortuneteller rasped. “All I need is the darkness to bring out the light of your natural quintessence—”

“Well, that’s good then—”

“—and a taste of your blood.”

“That’s…” Lance’s mouth went dry as he swallowed, his hands bunching into fists. Was the fortuneteller a _vampire_? “…great.”

“Before I share insight into your future, you must enter into an agreement with me,” said the fortuneteller.

“As long as it’s not my soul,” Lance said, pretending that his knees didn’t tremble, urging him to flee, “I’ll take it into consideration.”

“First, you will accept what I give you and ask no specific questions,” they said. “I only see what your quintessence chooses to show.”

“Oh, makes perfect sense,” he grumbled. “Can’t even rate the service I’m getting…”

“Second, you will not seek to pay me with money, for money does little for me.”

“Not a bad condition,” Lance conceded with a nod, “but what _do_ you want?”

“A drop of blood,” the fortuneteller said, something _hungry_ in his whispering voice. “Blood oozing a hero’s quintessence…nourishment for movements…”

“I’m…flattered,” Lance said, disgust curling his lip. He reflexively stepped back, away from the voice and the pitiless yellow eyes. “Anything else in the fine print?”

“Third and final condition, you tell no one the contents of your fortune.”

“What…happens if I do?” Lance asked warily. And was it too late to change his mind?

“No future is certain when viewed from a distance,” the fortuneteller explained. “Our quintessence is as changeable as the universe’s entropy, and nothing that hasn’t been spoken is set in stone.”

“So if I _say_ it, it’ll definitely happen?” Lance said.

“Yes.”

“And if I _don_ _’t_ say it, it only _might_ happen?” Lance clarified.

“Yes,” said the fortuneteller, “but the nearer to now, the more overwhelming the odds it _will_ come true.”

“What if it’s something I _want_ to happen?” Lance wondered. He crossed his arms, raising an eyebrow - although he wasn’t sure the fortuneteller could see his body language.

“I regret to tell you I have never told a fortune its recipient enjoyed.”

His heart dropped, dread curdling in his stomach. “I-is it too late to change my mind?”

“We have entered into no agreement,” said the fortuneteller.

Lance inhaled, running fingers through his hair as he considered. On one hand, learn some bleak forewarning about his future and possibly take steps to avoid it…but on the other, hold the fortune close to his chest and prevent it alone.

Either way, it was a raw deal, and he could practically _imagine_ his mother yelling at him for his poor sense.

Well, as the Blade of Marmora said, knowledge or death…

“All right,” Lance decided, his back stiffening with resolve, “I agree to the conditions.” He held out his right hand, half-expecting the fortuneteller to shake on it, but instead something sharp sliced across his palm.

He jumped, startled by the warm wetness, only for a sting to dance along his nerves. A wince escaped him as he cradled his hand close to his chest, careful not to get what he knew to be his own blood on his jacket.

“Can’t at least warn a guy before you cut his hand open?” Lance whined.

The fortuneteller ignored him, their eyes flashing white as they turned onto him. Lance shivered under the gaze - cold, despite the fire that lay within it - and bit his lip to contain a pained whimper.

It was just a stupid cut, and he’d been blown up once!

Besides, there was no one around to baby him at the moment…

“So…” he said, glancing towards the fortuneteller. “When do you—”

“ _I see_ _…her smiling in your arms._ ”

Lance grinned; this sounded good…although he couldn’t help his confusion, for hadn’t they warned him he wouldn’t like what he heard?

“ _I see_ _…blood trailing from her lips._ ”

And there it was.

“ _I see_ _…your grief written for everyone to see._ ”

“Wait, who—”

“ _The love of your life will die at your wedding, because she learned selflessness from you._ ”

The fortuneteller’s eyes dimmed to a dusky yellow, but the darkness swallowed any light they emit, leaving Lance almost…numb.

Shock gripped him, shock and the dread sitting heavily in his stomach. His hand barely smarted anymore - he idly wondered if the fortuneteller sped along the healing - but he couldn’t find the brain capacity to marvel in it.

“W-who is she?” Lance finally brought himself to ask, his fingertips digging into his arm. His blood rushed past his ears - if the fortuneteller replied, would he even hear their words? - and slowly got to his feet.

(When did he stumble for his knees to connect with the stony ground?)

“Do you not remember my first condition?” said the fortuneteller.

“Th-that was—I agreed to that before I heard anything!” Lance shouted, anger washing away the shock. “Who _is_ she? H-how will I know when I’ve met her?”

“I cannot say,” they rasped. “It is your fortune; do with it what you will.”

“You’re no help,” Lance snapped, rolling his eyes. “How am I supposed to know who to protect - or who to _avoid_?”

“Our transaction is complete, Red Paladin,” the fortuneteller said, and his addressing of Lance with a _title_ startled him before he could demand more information again. “Leave my presence.”

“Fine!” Lance said. “You can quiznaking bet I won’t recommend your services to my friends and family!”

(Not that his family would be able to access them anyway…)

He stumbled out of the tent, barely noticing when the flap lifted without his assistance, the twin sunlight blinding him before he blinked.

Lance raised an arm to shield his eyes with a wince, his mind swirling with that fortune.

The _love of his life_?

And why was he so worried? He was only eighteen - he thought? - so he was scarcely about to be tied down by someone. He’d only just accepted that his feelings for Allura delved a little deeper than attraction, maybe even stronger than a crush, and maybe one day—

Lance’s eyes widened, and the instant Keith stepped into his view he grabbed his shoulders, leaning heavily against him, and demanded, “Do you think Allura is the love of my life?”

Keith stared at him, his jaw flapping uselessly. “No.”

Hearing that - hearing Keith’s totally baseless opinion - shouldn’t make his heart sink so, not when Allura would be safe from the harm implied by his fortune.

But Lance scowled and thought, _What would Keith know?_

“I-is this about your fortune?” Keith wondered.

“I can’t tell you,” Lance said, plastering a smirk onto his face as he let go of him. “If I do, it might not come true.”

“So it was…good?” Keith said, crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow. “Wait, isn’t that just for wishes?”

Lance stared at him, seeking some lie or excuse to deflect, but then Keith’s gaze landed on his open right palm.

“Is that—Lance, is that _blood_?”

“It _was_ blood.” Lance held up his sliced hand - now healed but for the thin, ridged line he poked at. Dried brown blood crusted his palm, but he hid his hand behind his back, curling his hand into a fist to avoid scratching at the irritated skin. He sighed - ignoring Keith’s wide, stunned eyes - and grumbled, “I don’t know if this was worthwhile.”

“Then let’s return to—”

“No,” Lance said, his heart skipping a beat as he raised his uninjured hand. “We can’t go back yet; I still haven’t gotten anything for Pidge!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i forgot how melodramatic bits of this chapter are pfft


	2. Now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance shouldn't talk to the press at his own wedding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is probably the most melodramatic and embarrassing thing i've ever written...
> 
> ...excluding every future chapter of this fic
> 
> ~~it's all a soap opera in written form but hopefully with a bit more emotional depth lol~~
> 
>  
> 
> EDIT: Forgot to thank [rueitae](https://rueitae.tumblr.com/) and [hailqiqi](https://hailqiqi.tumblr.com/) for beta reading!! ~~tfw you're so worried about messing up a fic you ask two friends to beta read~~

It was a wonder Lance hadn’t taken up smoking when even the aliens that sought refuge on Earth sank into the vice. Then again, cigarettes were a lot harder to come by these days, and had been since they returned in the midst of Sendak’s invasion.

Yet Lance found himself longing for one, at least for something to occupy his hands and mind from what awaited him inside the chapel.

His mother’s excitement, Matt Holt’s icy glare, Veronica’s open concern, Hunk’s careful reproach, Keith’s controlled indignation, Allura’s trepidation…

Pidge’s piercing absence.

Not for the first time, he shoved Pidge and the last time they saw each other from his mind. He had more important things to worry about…like his impending wedding.

Not for the first time, he shoved Pidge and the last time they saw each other from his mind. He had more important things to worry about...like his impending wedding.

He'd somehow convinced Allura to host the wedding on Earth, even managed to sway her to adhere to some of his traditions too. It took time - and some effort from his mother - but eventually, after he pointed out that he was leaving _his_ home to be with her, she agreed, _"Why not? I haven't a home of my own anyway."_

Lance's gut had twisted to hear that.

"Got a light?"

The sudden voice jerked Lance from his thoughts - he'd thought he stood outside alone - and when he glanced around his gaze fell on an Unilu man in a four-sleeved pinstriped suit, an ugly polka dot bow tie clashing terribly with the stripes. An Earth-made camera hung against his hip, marking him as either a wedding photographer - had Coran or his mother hired one of those? Would _Coran_ , of all people, hire an _Unilu_ to take pictures? - or paparazzi that sneaked in past security.

The Unilu gestured at Lance with a cigarette between two fingers. "So...?"

Lance reached into the pocket of his slacks, his fingertip touching the bulb at the end of a laser pointer that once set the hem of his favorite baseball tee on fire. "No," he said, shaking his head, "but I'm pretty sure there are some lit candles inside. I'm sure the wedding guests won't mind you using one of those."

The Unilu shrugged, a free hand disappearing into his suit jacket for a lighter. "I have what I need." He stuck the cigarette between his lips - Lance would _never_ get used to the sight of someone not from Earth doing something so distinctly and unhealthily _human_ \- and cupped it while he lit the tip.

A third hand extended towards Lance, a single cigarette shaken from an almost empty box. "Want one?"

"No, thanks," Lance said with a strained smile. "Had an uncle that died of lung cancer - do you have lungs? - and I prefer my teeth white. Besides," he continued, allowing a sarcastic edge into his tone, "I like cigars better."

The Unilu, apparently, didn't get the joke, for he only shrugged and tucked the box back into his jacket. "Do you mind my smoke?"

"We're standing outside a chapel," Lance pointed out. "I think God minds the smoke more than I do." But he wrinkled his nose, the acrid stench already irritating him.

The Unilu took a shallow drag and exhaled a gray cloud of smoke over his shoulder. "You related to the bride or to the groom?"

Lance flashed the Unilu photographer a smirk, pressing his thumb to his chest. "I _am_ the groom," he said, "although I guess you can say I'll soon be related to the bride _through marriage_." He winked and pretended that an unpleasant knot of apprehension didn't sit heavily in his stomach.

"Huh." The Unilu finished his cigarette and stomped it underfoot before cradling his camera in both hands. "I thought grooms should be happier at their own weddings, or is marriage an unhappy thing on Earth?"

Lance's eyes widened; if a stranger - and an alien one at that - could read him so easily then his acting needed improvement.

But he laughed and leaned against the brick wall, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "Oh, it's an Earth tradition for the groom to _pretend_ to be unhappy at his wedding."

"Really." The Unilu raised his camera, and the bulb flashed.

Lance blinked spots out of his eyes and straightened. "Hey, at least warn me before you take a picture! I may be photogenic, but I still need a bit of—"

"Perhaps you can clear up a few rumors for me, Mr. Future Prince Consort."

Lance raised an eyebrow at the odd title but didn't comment on it. "Uh...what?" he said, wary.

"Are you upset that the Green Paladin hasn't arrived?"

Lance scowled, but he couldn't figure out if his heart pounded out of anger or if it dropped out of unhappiness at the reminder. "She's just running late," he lied. "It's easy for her to lose track of time if she's caught up with something important."

_More important than her best friend's wedding day?_

Well, Lance had no one but himself to blame for _that_.

"So it's not because she and the bride - Princess Allura - fell out?" The Unilu smiled, a gold tooth glinting in the sunlight.

Lance considered, rubbing the back of his neck. "Why are you asking?" He frowned. "Is this going in some tabloid while Allura and I are on our honeymoon?"

“I can’t say what my editor will choose to print,” the Unilu said with more coyness in his tone than Lance liked.

Lance scanned the surrounding area, the isolated section of the parking lot where the priest left his car and a locked donation bin full of old clothes stood; ascertaining that they were alone, he grabbed the Unilu by the collar - the _silk_ bow tie, because of _course_ something so ugly would waste good silk - and got in his face.

“I know what your editor will choose to print,” Lance hissed. “He’ll print nothing, because you won’t give him anything.”

From this close, the Unilu’s smoke-filled breath fell against his face as he retorted with a composed tone, “This confrontation is quite revealing. Tell me more about how the Green Paladin is a sore spot for you.”

“You’re leaving.” Lance let him go and stepped away. “Go; you weren’t invited anyway.”

“Wait, at least confirm a rumor for me—”

Lance turned his back; despite how little appeal the prospect held, it was probably time he went back inside.

“—but did you have an affair with her?”

His heart skipped a beat before picking up again at a faster tempo, his knees freezing before he took a step towards the chapel’s back door. Somehow he unstuck his feet from the ground to pivot and face the Unilu photographer.

“That is some dramatic word choice,” Lance said, managing a weak huff of laughter. “Have you been reading trashy Earth romance novels?”

The Unilu only grinned, a recorder in a hand that didn’t clutch his camera.

“Look,” Lance said, sighing, his mouth going dry although he knew this was a bad idea, “P—she and I”—why did it hurt to say her name?—”we didn’t—we were never really… _together_.”

(Truth never tasted more like falsehood.)

“Because you were with the princess?”

“What?” Lance’s eyes shot open, indignation gripping him. “Are you—no, I have _never_ cheated on Allura!” _At least, not physically,_ he added to himself to a mental chorus of shame. “What the quiznak, man? We’re getting married today!”

“But do you _want_ to?” the Unilu asked, his teeth bared almost menacingly. “Misery written all over your face, tense at the mention of the Green Paladin, sulking outside alone—”

“You’re a paparazzi,” Lance interrupted, angry, as he crossed his arms, “not my therapist.”

“What’s the Earth expression?” the Unilu photographer said. “Two sides of the same GAC?”

“Coin,” Lance corrected automatically. “And it’s _not_ , so get the quiznak away from my wedding!”

“At least tell me why the Green Paladin isn’t attending a wedding for two of her teammates,” he said, beseeching. “Consider it a matter of _diplomacy_ , wanting to know how the universe’s defenders are faring and—”

“It was with me,” Lance confessed quietly, his shoulders sagging as some of the fight left him.

“What? So you _did_ have an—”

“She and I fought two nights ago and we haven’t made up.” He sighed and rubbed his face. “Honestly, I don’t know if we ever will.”

Why did he admit this to a paparazzi? It would be used to smear him - and Pidge - by the end of the weekend, and would add more reasons for her to be angry and refuse to talk to him.

Not that he blamed her, not after what they both said.

The Unilu grinned, a predatory gleam in his eyes. “Why n—”

The chapel’s back door shot open, explosively slamming against the wall. A stray cat, startled, fled from underneath the priest’s car and disappeared around a corner.

“Oh, there you are, Lance!” Coran - who _finally_ stopped addressing him by a number when he and Allura announced their engagement - said from the doorway. “Perhaps it’s time to come back in? We’ll be starting soon and—” His blue eyes roved from Lance to the Unilu that stood beyond him, his mouth twisting into a scowl. “ _You_!”

“Me!” the Unilu said, pointing at his chest with both right thumbs.

Coran jumped onto the sidewalk and shook his fist. “Oh, no, you will _not_ be the one to ruin Princess Allura’s special day, so be gone with you!”

“With pleasure,” the Unilu said, much to Lance’s surprise. He stuck his recorder into a trouser pocket and settled his camera back against his hip. “I think I’ve got everything I need; do _you_?”

That last he directed at Lance with a wink before turning to cross the parking lot.

Lance stared after him, an odd tugging in his gut, and said, “Why do I feel like I just talked to a fairy?”

“A fay-ry?” Coran glanced at him. “What’s a fay-ry?”

“It’s a creature from—” Lance waved a dismissive hand and said, “Never mind.” He dropped a hand onto Coran’s shoulder and steered him towards the gaping doorway, forcing a bracing breath of air into his lungs. “Let’s go back inside.”

As he passed back into the chapel, Lance sincerely hoped _he_ wouldn’t be “the one” to ruin Allura’s “special day” either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...are you mad yet??
> 
> sorry it's so short; the next chapter is a lot longer though so ;)
> 
> also smoking is bad for you, don't smoke


	3. Two Years Ago

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance goes back to the beginning and catches a glimpse of the end

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> um well this is the chapter with the "suggestive content" but it remains only implied
> 
> my thanks to [rueitae](rueitae.tumblr.com/) and [hailqiqi](hailqiqi.tumblr.com/) for beta reading and helping me make this chapter slightly less monstrous than it would've been
> 
> in any case, please enjoy the chapter!! (and don't expect them to be this long every time...this one's probably going to be an outlier)

“Why did you buy me something I could’ve just built myself?”

Lance looked up from his phone - where he scrolled through old pictures like he always did after the bittersweetness of parting with friends - and over at where Pidge stood on the backyard patio of her parents' house. She clutched a small, shining cylinder in her hand, a bulb at its tip red. The laser touched the fence, flitting away a heartbeat after two wide white paws engulfed it.

Bae-Bae fell to the ground with a snort, pacing in a circle until he caught sight of the laser shining on the dirt.

Pidge smiled softly while watching her family's dog romp around in the barren garden, and when her eyes drifted to meet Lance's, his throat went dry.

"You...what did you say?" he asked.

She rolled her eyes and said, "Why did you get me something I could've built for myself?" She tucked the laser pointer into the pocket of her jeans and sat on the step right above him, leaning back on her hands. "I've been building laser pointers since I could walk."

Lance gaped at her. "You're...joking, right? And _you_ _’re_ the one that kept it even when the Castle exploded, so it must’ve meant something to you!”

Pidge laughed. "Fine, since...I think I built the first in kindergarten, with my dad's help."

"Yeah, that's _still_ crazy, Pidge," he pointed, stunned and amazed…and noting that she dodged his other comment. "But...why are you asking me now? You've had it for a while." He gazed at her from the corner of his eye, taking in the way the sun outlined every loose strand of hair falling over her face.

She'd let it grow longer - nearly to her shoulders - since they returned to Earth.

"I don't know," Pidge said, shrugging. She reached down to scratch Bae-Bae's ear when he approached, snuffing at her pockets as if searching for the laser pointer or treats. "It's been bothering me for a while, I guess."

"A laser pointer?" Lance raised an eyebrow. "It's not like I got you a diamond ring."

"No, _that_ would be crazy," Pidge scoffed, a curious pout on her face. "Where _did_ you get it from? It was kind of...powerful."

"No kidding," Lance grumbled, crossing his arms and resting them on his knees. "You almost torched my shirt with it."

"That was an accident," she said, "because _you_ didn't warn me that it could burn that quickly!"

"And yet you fixed it," Lance pointed out, nudging her in the leg. "It's easy as breathing for you, isn't it?"

Pidge smiled, a hint of color touching her cheeks, and Lance couldn't help his own flush of pride that _he_ could have that effect on her.

Pidge was scarcely modest - although he wouldn't consider her arrogant either - and happily accepted praise from any source, but every so often he paid her a sincere compliment. She would smile that small, pleased smile, and sometimes she would blush.

Seeing it filled his chest with warmth, made him want to take a picture to remember it.

Which he did.

Pidge scowled and squinted when the bulb on his phone flashed. "What was that for, Lance?" she demanded, shoulders hunched.

"Nothing," Lance said, grinning at the photo of a smiling Pidge in the sunlight. "I just thought a picture would last longer."

"Than...what?" Pidge slid down a step till her arm pressed against his.

Lance slid his phone into his pocket and confessed, "Whatever we've got here? Everyone else is gone—”

"Not for good."

"—and in a few days I'm leaving too."

When Pidge didn't immediately reply, the ensuing silence felt stifling, but eventually she wondered, "Where are you going?"

"Home," he said simply, a smile tugging at his lips. "My parents are getting old, and my brothers and sisters all have lives of their own."

"Are you saying _you_ don't have a life, Lance?" Pidge said, frowning and quirking an eyebrow at him.

Lance chuckled without much humor. "It's not that," he said. "I just want to be with them now; besides, I don't mind being just an _on-call_ Paladin."

"Lance—”

"What about you?" he cut her off before she could say something he wouldn't like hearing. "You love space; your brother and dad said you always wanted to be up there."

"I know," Pidge said, wrapping her arms around her legs and pulling her knees close to her face, "but...I want to be closer to home, at least for now. I'll go back someday." Her gaze drifted up, towards the moon only now beginning to rise into a rich blue sky. "There's still no place like home though."

Lance wasn't sure he imagined her leaning into him as the words left her lips.

"Still kind of dumb that Paladins of Voltron need _jobs_ after saving the universe," Pidge whined.

"Could've done like Hunk and settled on another planet for a while," Lance reminded her, knocking his shoulder into hers. "Lived and worked among them. I hear Olkarion is nice this time of deca-phoeb?" He glanced at her and waggled his eyebrows, and though his heart sank at the thought of Pidge leaving - of _all_ his friends leaving - Earth, he couldn't help but think she wasted an opportunity.

"Didn't you hear, Lance?" Pidge said, her tone teasing. "The Catholic Church is finally right about Earth being the center of the universe, in a sense at least."

As if to corroborate her statement, a ship marked with Coalition colors drifted down from the sky towards the horizon in the direction the Garrison's space field lay. It was a familiar sight, and grew less strange - less _alien_ \- by the day.

Struck by an odd sense of loneliness at how small and _huge_ the universe was, Lance wrapped an arm around Pidge's shoulders and pulled her against him, and somehow, just her warmth soothed the fresh ache in his heart.

* * *

“Tell me again why _we_ need to be there?” Pidge wondered, her voice coming clearly over the comm link.

Flying Red in formation with Pidge’s and Hunk’s Lions fit like a glove, the familiarity of it almost overwhelming Lance with unexpected emotion. The only things missing were Keith’s scowls, Shiro’s gentle reminders, and Allura’s determination.

And Coran’s…Coran-ness.

“Because we’re their friendly neighborhood Paladins,” Lance replied, flashing the image of Pidge that popped onto the console a grin.

“Yeah, basically what Lance said,” Hunk agreed. “Dissidents kidnapped the new prime minister’s daughter—”

“Quiznak,” Lance exhaled.

“—and are holding her for ransom.”

“H-how old is she?” Pidge wondered, her eyes wide in alarm.

“She’s…really young by Nimrene’s standards,” Hunk said with a sigh. “She’s my nephew’s age.”

Pidge bit her lip, eyebrows drawn close in concern, and Lance’s hold on the Red Lion’s flight sticks tightened. “What happened there?” he asked Hunk.

“Nimrene isn’t transitioning so well into a peacetime government,” he explained. “The Fire of Purification left a lot of damage after they raided.”

Lance scowled - of _course_ this was all Sendak’s fault - and said, “Well, they’ve got us on the way, so they don’t need to fear.”

“Oh, well, that’s another thing…”

“What?” Pidge said warily.

“All the prime minister wants us to do is recover her daughter.”

“Wait, that’s _it_?” Pidge said, her jaw dropping.

“She insisted she wants to prove she can defend her right to her office without Voltron,” Hunk said, frowning, “and Allura agreed.”

“Guess we can’t argue with the princess,” Pidge grumbled.

“Wouldn’t have thought you’d be disappointed by the easy mission, Pidge,” Lance said, right as a planet with a surface swirling with green and yellow and white clouds came into view. “The sooner we finish this, the sooner you can get back to your projects at the Garrison, right?” He waggled his eyebrows at her image.

Pidge rolled her eyes and said, “It just seems like we’re not doing enough for them.”

“I’d say rescuing a kid from the clutches of her evil kidnappers is a pretty big deal,” Lance pointed out. “Think of it this way:  you’ll have her gratitude, and maybe she’ll be so inspired by you that she’ll become a badass astronaut and scientist too!”

Lance wasn’t sure what sort of response he expected from Pidge, but it wasn’t the one he got, not the pink tint to her cheeks or the almost shy smile or her surprised silence.

If he didn’t know any better, he’d assume his praise _flustered_ her.

But the consideration itself made a warm pride bloom, and a smile tugged at his own lips by the time their Lions breached Nimrene’s atmosphere.

The Fire of Purification all but destroyed the Nimr’s cities, razing and pillaging, leaving disaster in their wake and for the people to pick up the pieces. But new life rose up from the ruins, the Nimr making do with what they had left, planting fields and salvaging building materials and nursing their wounds.

Like Earth, they survived, but not everyone was so willing to pool resources.

They landed the Lions in a desolate clearing outside one of the ruined cities. Amid the skeletons of skyscrapers, low buildings had been erected, crafted from mismatched supplies, while most of the city’s denizens went about their day buying and selling and living.

But a crowd of tiger-like people riding open hovercraft heavily laden with crates of what looked like luminous aubergines gathered between the Lions and the road leading into the nearby city, openly gawking as they descended down the ramp.

Lance grinned and raised a hand. “We come in peace!” he said.

Pidge snorted, but amusement flitted across her face.

Hunk, however, frowned disapprovingly at him as he took charge and led them through the crowd, calling greetings out to them at random.

The answering silence made the hairs on the back of Lance’s neck prickle, and he kept his hand out, prepared to summon his bayard at a tick’s notice. He hovered close to Pidge, wary of losing sight of her in a crowd of upright and tall tiger aliens that gazed at them with open hostility.

Almost like they blamed _them_ for what the Fire of Purification did.

“Hunk,” Lance said, speaking low and half-relying on the comm in his helmet, “is it just me, or does it feel like—”

Something struck his helmet, forcing him backwards and stumbling into Pidge, and when the ringing cleared from his ears the guts of a glow-in-the-dark eggplant were splattered over his visor.

“What the quiznak?” Pidge hissed, her bayard already in hand. “Who—”

Lance held his arm out, keeping her behind him. “I’m fine,” he reassured her. “It was just an…eggplant thing.”

“Right, well—”

“Guys!” Hunk shouted, his voice cutting through the tension and making Pidge jump. “They’re waiting for us!”

“Coming!” Lance replied, grabbing Pidge’s wrist and tugging her along.

She had to jog to keep up with his longer stride, and when she didn’t dismiss her bayard he glanced around at the crowd that steadily resumed their usual business. “You know,” he said, “I don’t think you need that now.”

“What if someone attacks you with something more dangerous than an bioluminescent eggplant, Lance?” Pidge said testily.

“I have a shield?” he suggested, shrugging.

Pidge opened her mouth to retort, but before she could they met with Hunk beside a hovercraft, its doors emblazoned with three thin black stripes. When he shot her a questioning glance, she snapped her jaws shut and crossed her arms, a scowl twisting her lips.

“What’s got her goat?” Hunk wondered.

“She was ready to do battle because I got hit in the head with a tiger alien’s eggplant,” Lance muttered under his breath. “It didn’t hurt, by the way, but thanks for asking.”

Hunk rolled his eyes, then glanced sideways at Pidge, who’d finally put away her bayard. “I’m pretty sure you’d do the same thing for her,” he said as he climbed into the hovercraft.

Lance followed, offering a hand to help Pidge up. “I would _not_ ,” he argued. “I’m _much_ more reasonable than that, right, Pidge?”

“What?” She accepted his hand up but was quick - too quick - to let go, settling into the seat beside Hunk. “You? Reasonable?” She giggled and met Hunk’s eyes. “I bet the list of _unreasonable_ things you’ve done outweigh the reasonable.”

Lance hunched his shoulders, but he stretched his legs out in front of him, getting comfortable in the surprisingly spacious interior of the craft. Its engines burst into life, and he felt the tug in his gut that meant it traveled towards their destination.

“Name one,” he grumbled.

“Your so-called ‘rivalry’ with Keith,” Hunk said.

“The _Tailor_ ,” Pidge added.

“Hey, Pidge, remember that time at the Garrison when he—”

“All right, I get it,” Lance cut him off, rolling his eyes. The sight of Hunk and Pidge giggling together made something sour twist in his gut, so he elected to change the subject.

“This explains why the prime minister doesn’t want Voltron involved with her succession issue,” Lance realized as he wiped pureed vegetables off his helmet with the cuff of his armor - or tried to. “It would make her even more unpopular than she already is.”

“How do you figure?” Pidge wondered, leaning towards him.

“Did you see how…unhappy they were to see us?” Lance said, nodding behind him. “I wonder if they blame _us_ for Sendak invading…”

“But…why?”

“I don’t know, Pidge,” Lance said, sighing.

“They haven’t rebuilt as much or as fast as Earth has,” Hunk observed. “It’s…been our priority - it’s our home - but I’d understand if other members of the Coalition felt short-changed.”

The reality of the universe they lived in hit them, an uncomfortable silence descending over the hovercraft’s interior.

When it shuddered to a halt, Lance’s dirty helmet rolled out of his lap only for Pidge to catch it and pass it back to him. She smiled slightly when their eyes met but glanced away again just as fast.

His heart skipped a beat, but before he could contemplate why the hovercraft’s door slid open and they emerged onto a wide avenue littered with broken paving stones and lined with towering trees almost entirely stripped of their branches.

A Nimr stood waiting for them with their hands - or paws? - folded behind their back, dressed in something that resembled a trench coach manufactured from a gaudy green fabric that clashed awfully with their orange and black striped fur.

“Welcome to Nimrene,” said the Nimr in a deep voice once they approached them. “Prime Minister Ami awaits you inside.” They led the way over an uneven path - Lance nearly tripped more times than he could count, and he had to catch Pidge by the arm when she stumbled - towards a simple, squat building made of what looked like…brick and mortar.

“We apologize for the simplicity of your accommodations,” said their Nimr guide as he gestured them into a small and poorly lit entryway. “Most of our government buildings were destroyed, and the biggest and most intact of them are now shelters for people whose homes are little more than rubble.”

Lance exchanged a glance with Hunk, who sighed and said, “We’re grateful for this much. Besides, we’ve suffered worse.” He smirked at Lance.

“Hey,” he said, rolling his eyes, “as long as there’s hot water and a comfortable bed, I won’t complain. Pidge, on the other hand”—he threw his arm around her neck and grinned—”she just wants a good connection for her hacking.”

“I’m a woman of simple taste, clearly,” Pidge said sardonically…although Lance counted it a victory that she didn’t shove him off.

Their guide directed them through an open doorway at the end of a long, unadorned hallway, and they stepped into a small office with a simple wooden desk at one end.

A Nimr dressed similarly to the one that greeted them stood from behind it, rounding it to approach. “Paladins of Voltron,” they said, “I thank you for coming. I am Prime Minister Ami.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Hunk said, nodding his head politely.

“Are we supposed to bow to prime ministers?” Lance wondered, lowering his voice to mutter to Pidge.

She shrugged but retorted, “It’s not like she’s royalty, right?”

“Guess not,” he said, deciding to imitate Hunk’s gesture.

“So…you want our help to rescue your daughter?” Hunk asked.

“And _nothing_ else?” Pidge clarified.

“Yes, and yes,” said the prime minister. She walked behind her desk and clicked a button on the console.

A hologram burst into life, the image of another Nimr crackling as they spoke, _“…your daughter. If you wish to see her alive again, you’ll resign your position. If you refuse, not only will she die, but we will take all of Nimrene from you by force.”_ The Nimr in the image reached away, and when their arm returned into view, they dragged a much Nimr, their edges blurred but fright obvious in their voice when they whimpered. _“You have two movements; resign publicly or suffer the consequences.”_

The projection flickered off, and Prime Minister Ami sank heavily into her chair.

“How long has it been?” Hunk said.

“I…have two more quintants,” she admitted, her whiskers quivering as she sighed. “I held off too long before contacting Voltron. I thought we could find them and recover Hyla on our own, but I didn’t realize how thinly Nimrene’s forces are already spread, and…how _effective_ the gang that took her is.”

“What do you mean?” Pidge asked, her head tilting with curiosity.

“Hyla had two bodyguards and at least one stayed with her at all times,” Ami explained. “Ludo”—she tilted her head towards their guide—”was one of them. According to ancient and abandoned traditions, losing his charge would require him to commit suicide, but now he’s only obligated to recover her.” She bared her teeth, her eyes glinting with the barely repressed rage of a mother who longed to hold someone accountable for her daughter’s disappearance.

(Lance had seen that same look on his own mother’s face, directed at Commander Iverson.)

“So how did they get to her?” Pidge pressed.

“We’re not sure,” Ludo admitted, his ears drooping. “We found my partner with her throat slit, but there was no sign of _any_ disturbance on our security feeds.”

Pidge hummed thoughtfully, already entering into mission mode as she rubbed her chin. “I’d like to take a look at those.”

“Anything you require,” said Ami.

“You think the kidnappers are somewhere in the city?” Pidge asked.

“Either in the city or nearby hiding at the edge of the jungle,” Ludo confirmed. “What are you thinking?”

Pidge glanced over her shoulder at Lance and Hunk. “Lance and I will go over the security feeds - it’ll go faster with two sets of eyes, Lance,” she headed him off before he could complain about how boring it was. “Hunk, you…do what?”

Hunk frowned. “I’ll chat with Prime Minister Ami and Ludo a bit more about their problem here.”

Ah, his diplomacy thing, Lance guessed. Maybe after they talked politics, Hunk would cook up their planetary dishes better than they could for themselves.

Lance followed Pidge and Ludo into an adjacent monitoring station while the guard without a body set them up at a screen. “Most of our best technology was either destroyed or stolen when the Galra invaded,” Ludo said. “The equipment we’ve been using is mostly of an older model.”

“That’s all right,” Pidge said. “I can make do.”

“If anyone can find anything in these tapes—”

“They won’t be tapes, Lance.”

“—Pidge can,” Lance bragged, ignoring her correction.

She flashed him a grin over her shoulder, but a heartbeat later her focus narrowed to a point. And Lance settled in to provide support.

* * *

“They’re cloaked,” Pidge said, jerking Lance out of his stupor.

He’d been trying to keep himself from nodding off, his mind sluggish after vargas of staring at a screen that revealed nothing.

Nothing except a young Nimr girl vanishing into thin air, her bodyguard’s throat sliced open without a struggle.

“Ludo, did you ever develop cloaking technology?” Pidge wondered, glancing over her shoulder at the Nimr hovering in the doorway.

“No, we did not,” he said.

“Stolen Galra tech?” Lance suggested from his perch on the chair beside her.

“The Galra’s cloaking technology is too _limited_ for this,” Pidge said. “It wouldn’t have lasted long enough to get them into this building, past Hyla’s bodyguard, and back out without detection…and Hyla disappeared with them.”

“They had an extra cloaking device for her too?”

“Maybe,” Pidge said, although from her tone and the furrow of her brow, she still doubted.

“Well, cloaking or some other mysterious technique, we still don’t know where to find them.”

“I have an idea about that,” Hunk said, entering the room from behind Ludo. “I was talking to the prime minister, and she told me the center of all this unrest has been the city’s old square.”

“Yes,” Ludo said, nodding. “That might make some sense. There’s an old network of tunnels under the square - our ancestors preferred to live underground, especially in summer when the surface was almost too hot to suffer - but they’ve been closed off for centuries. When the Galra were here, some of the barricades might’ve collapsed…the tunnels as well, I fear.”

“Well,” Lance said, cheerfully jumping to his feet and stretching his arms over his head, “at least we have a starting point.”

* * *

Any surveillance equipment that had remained in the tunnels under the old square before the invasion had been stripped away to install elsewhere after as the Nimr improvised and retrofitted their infrastructure, unless the dissidents hiding beneath the city had their own…

The plan Pidge, Hunk, and Ludo hatched was simple in theory, but the lack of any real _eyes_ to scan the tunnels ahead of their rescue… _worried_ Lance.

It didn’t help that the first phase of their plan required Pidge to infiltrate the tunnels alone.

She’d outfitted all their armor with personal cloaking devices, but thanks to some science reason - _“The mass and volume of the target area are directly proportional to the energy required to cloak it_ and _inversely proportional to the time the cloaking lasts._ _”_ \- no one could argue against her suitability for the mission.

But it didn’t stop him from trying.

“Are you sure we can’t find some way to get a look at these kidnappers before you sneak in?” Lance wondered. He rested his hands on his hips as he watched her download a schematic of the tunnels into her armor’s information system.

A ping from his cuff alerted Lance that she’d shared the schematic with him, and when he lifted it his cuff projected an image of a twisting, winding, tangled maze he could barely make sense of.

“We don’t have time for that,” Pidge said, flicking through the image projected from her own cuff. “There’s less than two vargas until their deadline, and the sooner we go in, the more careful we can be about rescuing the girl. Besides”—she flashed him a smirk, but one without an edge, almost soft—”I have you to make sure I don’t run into any trouble.”

“Uh…” Lance’s jaw dropped uselessly. “Of course, but—”

“They probably have some security measures of their own,” Pidge said, sighing, “and I won’t know what they are - especially if they have _cloaking_ technology - until I encounter it. And since I’ll be preoccupied dealing with that and locating Hyla, I’m counting on you for directions.” She smacked his back, making him jump in surprise.

Lance offered her a grin and a thumbs up, his heart pounding as he promised, “I’ll watch out for you. Still…I don’t like the thought of you - or anyone! - going in alone.”

“I know,” Pidge said, “but this gives us the best chance of finding Hyla and smuggling her out before Ludo and his force go in to arrest the kidnappers.”

Lance slumped, and before long he, Hunk, and Ludo were positioned around the old square. Ludo and the Nimrene soldiers he’d enlisted for the mission lay out of sight and in wait for Pidge’s signal in a nearby decrepit old building. Lance sat atop the roof of another building, his scope trained on one of the underground maze’s many entrances hidden beneath the crumbling and ivy-covered statue of a Nimr wearing a circlet. According to the prime minister, the effigy of Queen Hyla - namesake of her daughter - was erected when the tunnels became a hideout for one of the most notorious criminals that ever inflicted damage upon the city - until Sendak invaded.

But even with his perfect view of the statue, he didn’t have a clear view of the entrance.

An unofficial market sprang into being in the old square, crowds of farmers selling their crops - did _all_ the edible vegetables here practically glow? - and craftsmen hawking their wares in front of hovercraft that hovered a bit higher with every purchase lightening the load. Shoppers moved every which way, and there was no way to tell who was innocently minding their own business and who…wasn’t.

“Tell me again why we couldn’t evacuate the square,”  Lance grumbled over the comm. He spotted Pidge at the edge of the crowd, wearing a borrowed trench coat over her armor and a hood pulled over her head. She was as diminutive as a Nimr child, but that didn’t bother her as she pushed her way through towards the statue of Queen Hyla.

“Our forces are already spread too thin,” Ludo explained, “and if we evacuate the market, we risk alerting our enemies to our plan.”

“And we’re running out of time,” Hunk added unhelpfully.

Lance gritted his teeth, narrowing his eyes when a Nimr selling miscellaneous knickknacks accosted her. He could see every minute twitch on her face, irritation and impatience making her lips twist into the semblance of a scowl. But she stayed composed, instead, stepping past the seller at a dogged, determined pace that carried her to just in front of the statue.

Pidge’s slight figure dissolved into nothingness before Lance’s eyes.

He swallowed, his throat dry, and said, “Stay safe, Pidge.”

“I’ll try my quiznaking best,” she said in a low voice. “Which way do I turn now?”

Lance flinched, remembering the task that Pidge set him. “Uh…” He lifted his wrist, the projection of the tunnels bursting into life, and zoomed in on the little green dot that indicated her location. “Go straight. There’s a fork ahead…”

The silences that stretched between his words and Pidge’s responses wore at his nerves, though he knew she walked into a tiger’s lair…and though the tiger couldn’t see her it had sensitive ears.

The tunnel schematic flashed, countless orange dots erupting into being, and Lance’s eyes widened in alarm. “Pidge, are these—”

“Life forms?” she whispered, her voice crackling with more static as she grew more distant. “Yeah, I hacked into their thermal motion sensors.”

“What about you?” Hunk asked.

“I’m just another blip in the radar for them,” Pidge dismissed easily. “Besides, I know where Hyla is. I labeled it on the schematic.”

Lance examined it like she bid him, and sure enough a red dot flashed at a distance from Pidge’s location. “There’s…no one guarding her?” he observed, confused at the lack of orange dots in the red dot’s vicinity.

“Yes, and I…can’t tell why,” Pidge admitted. “Their _visual_ security is a little lacking - their surveillance cameras aren’t placed that deep in the tunnels - but there are plenty of people down here. It’s like…they’re preparing to defend their base.”

A chill of foreboding swept over Lance, but Hunk asked the obvious first, “Do you think they know?”

“No one who knew of this plan would’ve told them,” Ludo cut in defensively. “They’re only expecting us to move now, before their striping deadline.”

_Striping?_ Lance couldn’t help an amused smile at the presumed swear and was glad Ludo wasn’t there to see it.

“Where next, Lance?”

“Oh, uh, right!”

“Okay—”

“Wait, right as in _okay_! Go left!”

With every millimeter Pidge’s green dot moved on the schematic, the tenser Lance’s shoulders grew. He gripped his bayard tightly in one hand, half his attention on giving Pidge directions and half on monitoring the tunnel entrance. As two vargas until deadline wore into one and the sun rose to its zenith, the market crowd lessened in the heat but refused to dwindle.

A bead of sweat rolled down Lance’s forehead; his armor suffocated him in the humid heat, and he wished he’d bothered to lower his visor and engage the climate control system. “How’s the weather down there?” he quipped to Pidge.

“The ventilation sucks,” she replied.

Lance snickered before saying, “Don’t worry, Pidge. Only a few more doboshes and you and Hyla will be suffering the heat and humidity with us.”

When she didn’t reply, his heart jumped into his throat. “Pidge?” He glanced at the schematic, noting her dot nearly on top of Hyla’s.

“Quiznak,” Pidge hissed into his ear over the comm.

“What happened?” Hunk said.

But Lance was already moving, vaulting himself over the edge of the roof and slowing his descent with his jet pack. He landed heavily on his feet, a cluster of chatting Nimr dispersing in his wake as he ran.

“Lance!” Pidge said, her voice high with alarm. “Hunk!” She shouted, “Hyla, get behind me!”

Lance didn’t understand who’d attacked Pidge and Hyla, didn’t know why no other dot zeroed in on their location on the schematic, but urgency spurred him on.

“Pidge, what’s going on?” Hunk demanded.

“Who’s attacking Hyla?” Ludo said, tone urgent.

The sound of a dull thud met Lance’s ears, and an image of a faceless enemy throwing Pidge against a wall rose in his mind. “I’m coming, Pidge!” he promised, pushing his way through the crowd of Nimr shoppers, heedless of their irritation.

“Wait, no, don’t!” Pidge cut in breathlessly. “There’s a—” The harsh crackle of static interrupted her.

Lance’s heart stopped when she screamed.

“Change of plan,” Lance decided, scowling as he ducked below the low tunnel entrance, “we’re not waiting for Pidge and Hyla to come out.”

“Lance, wait—”

Lance ignored Hunk’s and Ludo’s protests, his steps beating against the dirt floor urgent. He had the foresight to engage his own more limited cloaking device but hadn’t the desire to sneak around, not when Pidge needed him now.

_And who had attacked her and why hadn_ _’t he seen them to warn her about it?_

Nimr wearing eerily familiar masks flooded past him through the tunnels, paying him little mind. They held blasters and blades in their hands, following some unheard order while Ludo directed his forces to engage in the old square.

“Pidge?” he whispered into his comm. “Please answer; tell me you’re—”

A shuddering breath met his ears, and a voice laced with pain replied, “I’m f-fine; Hyla’s bigger than I am so we’re hobbling back to you now that the Druid’s gone.”

Lance exhaled in relief, but he couldn’t rest till he could see her upright and intact with his own two eyes. “Good,” he breathed. “Thank quiz—wait,” he said, his eyes widening as he registered all her words, “did you say _Druid_?”

* * *

“Why the quiznak did you just… _run in_ like that?” Pidge demanded. She lay in a Garrison infirmary bed, dressed in pale orange scrubs and gingerly resting her hand against her abdomen as she lectured Lance without abandon.

“Because someone _attacked_ you!” he retorted, pacing the length of the room. “What else was I supposed to do?”

“Follow the plan,” Pidge said. “It was there for a reason, and we should’ve _expected_ me to encounter resistance.”

“Did you expect a quiznaking _Druid_?” Lance retorted, flailing his arms and glaring at her. “Because _I_ didn’t, and I was supposed to be _warning_ you.”

“I know,” Pidge said, biting her lip. “It didn’t show up on the schematic, almost as if it was too… _cold_ for the thermal sensors.”

Lance shivered; he didn’t have the same experience with Druids as certain other members of his team, but the memory of a cold, dark tent and a rasping voice haunted him…

He shook it from his head, focusing again on Pidge. “Maybe you should’ve called for backup the instant you knew about the Druid.”

“So you could get hurt too?” Pidge snapped, eyes flashing with sudden anger. “And never mind compromising the mission—”

“I don’t care, Pidge,” Lance interrupted. His heart pounded with unspent adrenaline - they’d been back on Earth for days already, but he still yearned for an enemy to direct his fury at - as he crossed his arms, his gaze capturing Pidge’s. “Why would I if there’s some way I can keep you from getting hurt?”

Her eyes widened, her face softening from ire to surprise and…something else, her expression written in a language he still struggled to piece together.

(He grew closer to finding the translation every day.)

“Lance,” Pidge said softly, “I—”

A sharp knock on the door cut her off.

Lance deflated, the tension easing from his shoulders as he slumped in one of the chairs beside Pidge’s bed. When he’d arrived Matt was the one occupying it until he’d left to go to work with the promise of returning later with their parents.

But the person that Pidge admitted with a quiet _“come in”_ was Allura.

Lance stood, startled at the presence of the last person he expected, his heart skipping a beat. “Allura? And Hunk?”

Hunk walked in after her, and she smiled, but a beat later her eyes hardened. “I heard you nearly compromised the mission.”

“Because Pidge—”

“—was fine,” Pidge supplied from behind him. “No one’s bothered consulting me, but all I got was some second-degree burns and a few bruised ribs, no big deal. And yes, Prime Minister Ami’s daughter is safe now, thanks for asking.”

Lance glanced over his shoulder at her, rolling her eyes, but Pidge only scowled while Hunk rounded the bed and shot her a disapproving frown.

So much for that…moment between them that Allura’s and Hunk’s arrival interrupted.

“You doing better, Pidge?” Hunk asked.

“Yeah,” she said, shrugging. “Just hurts sometimes.”

“I’ll hug you carefully then.”

“I’m not made of glass,” Pidge whined even as she held her arms up and Hunk wrapped her in the gentle counterpart of his backbreaking bear hugs.

Irritation flickered in Lance’s gut, but he tore his eyes away from their reunion to look at Allura still standing near the doorway.

“Regardless,” she said, clearing her throat and approaching, “I’m happy to see you all right”—her dazzling smile fell on Lance before she turned towards Pidge—” _both_ of you, but I’m rather confused:

“What the _quiznak_ happened? And what’s this Hunk told me about a _Druid_?”

“Well…” Pidge struggled to sit up, but a grimace crossed her features, her arm cradling her stomach.

Lance returned to her bedside, worry making his stomach twist, and asked, “You need a nurse?”

“No, I think I’m just due for another dose of painkillers,” Pidge replied in a strained voice. But she accepted his assistance, her small hand slipping into his as he wrapped an arm around her back and helped prop her up against her pillow. “I miss the healing pods.”

Allura took the seat that Lance had vacated, smiling apologetically. “Unfortunately we—”

“—haven’t been able to replicate Altean healing technology.” Pidge waved a dismissive hand. “I know, and from what I remember reading about them and talking to you and Coran, they were still coveted in your time. But anyway, about the Druid”—she pulled her hand from Lance’s, pushing her untidy hair away her face—”I thought they all went down with Haggar.”

“That’s what I thought too,” Allura admitted with a heavy frown. “This is what worries me, if we somehow missed one. And if we missed one, we could’ve easily missed more.”

Lance let go of Pidge and crossed his arms, while Hunk wondered, “What did this one gain from helping a gang of rebels kidnap a little girl though? And then _disappearing_ before the threat could be seen through?”

“I do not know,” Allura said, tapping her fingers against her thigh, “and a part of me doesn’t wish to find out. However, we have to be on our guard if they’re to start tampering with the governments of Coalition member planets.”

“At least it explains how Hyla got kidnapped,” Pidge said.

“How?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” When Lance raised an eyebrow at her, she smiled sheepishly and said, “Or, it’s obvious to me.”

“Right,” Hunk said, nodding in agreement. “Nimrene never had cloaking technology, and it’s not what the kidnappers used.”

“Druids can be invisible,” Pidge continued seamlessly, “at least temporarily. _And_ they can teleport at a short range too.”

“Then why bother killing one of her bodyguards?” Lance wondered. “They wouldn’t have noticed she was missing until they got the threat.”

“To get their attention?” Allura mused. “To show they mean what they say? Although the Druid’s disappearance…I find that most troubling. It’s almost as if they were hoping for a different result to this.”

“What result?” Lance said, his temper flaring again. “Pidge got hurt and a little girl got traumatized!”

“Which must not have been their objective,” Pidge said, ignoring him but for her eyes narrowing in his direction.

“And they abandoned the dissidents to their fate,” Hunk added darkly.

Silence fell over the room, and finally the implications of what they said hit him. Whatever happened on Nimrene, this wasn’t the end of it, not with a rogue Druid still at large.

His hands curled into fists - what if Pidge or one of his other teammates hurt _worse_ next time? His gaze wandered to Pidge as she reached for the bottle of painkillers at her bedside.

“Lance,” Allura said, cutting into his thoughts, “could I have a word with you outside?”

“Uh…” He glanced from Pidge to her, his eyes widening in surprise. “Sure.” To Pidge he asked, “You want anything?”

A scowl crossed her face, disappearing so rapidly Lance wondered if he imagined it. Her brow smoothed and she said, “No, thank you. My parents should be coming soon, so…”

When she trailed off, he understood it as a tacit dismissal. “You coming, Hunk?” he said, looking at him standing beside Pidge’s bed.

“No, I want to talk to Pidge about something before her family gets here,” he replied with a teasing grin thrown her direction.

Pidge rolled her eyes, the slightest hint of pink rising to her pale cheeks.

Lance couldn’t help his suspicion, his imagination running wild with what Hunk wanted to talk about with Pidge…and why she was blushing at the thought.

And wasn’t Hunk with…?

Lance’s heart dipped, the taste of something sour at the back of his mouth, but he mumbled a goodbye to Pidge before following Allura out into the hallway. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Allura said, flashing him a grin that once would’ve set his heart racing. “Well, nothing more than I came to discuss; I just wanted to…how do you Earthlings say it? Catch up?”

Lance snorted, amused as he led her down the hall and past the nurses’ station. “That’s one way for it,” he said. They emerged into the waiting room, and he turned to face her. “How’s…space?”

“Good, good,” she said. “How’s your family?”

“Great!” Lance said cheerfully, shoving his hands into his pockets. “My mother thinks every time I leave the house will be my last - even when it’s to go to work - but everything is _great_.”

Allura laughed, but her eyes widened when she realized he was being sarcastic. “Does she really? Why?”

“Because of the first time?” Lance shrugged. “Mothers, right? Although Pidge thinks hers is worse…”

A movement behind Allura at the ward’s entrance caught his attention, and the automatic doors swung open to reveal Matt with his parents in tow. He raised a hand to wave, and Sam Holt offered a handshake.

“I’m glad to see you came back in one piece, at least,” he said, smiling.

“Lance,” Matt greeted with a grin, “Princess Allura.”

“Hello, Matt,” Allura said pleasantly.

“Hey,” Lance said. “Pidge was looking forward to you visiting her.” His eyes flicked over to Colleen, and he smiled cautiously. “I’m sure she’d love—”

Colleen swept past him without looking at him, her eyebrows drawn and worried but a familiar frown twisting her lip. She retreated into the ward, and Sam followed with one last nod of his head and a quick _“take care”_.

Matt lingered longer, resting his hand on Lance’s shoulder. “You know it’s not your fault she got hurt, right?”

“I-I know,” Lance said, although he couldn’t help his eyes widening that Pidge’s brother, of all people, would validate that.

“She’ll heal fine,” Matt reassured him - and why was he the one doing that when it should be the other way around? “If anything, she’ll just have a new epic scar—”

“I don’t think her burns were bad enough to leave scarring,” Lance said, raising an eyebrow.

Matt laughed, patting his arm. “You’re even starting to sound like her. That’s adorable.”

Lance’s face warmed as Matt followed his parents into the ward. He then glanced towards Allura, who watched him with a bemused smile on her lips.

He was afforded the trouble of saying anything when Hunk arrived, an almost conspiratorial grin crossing his face when his gaze landed on Lance.

“You sticking around, Hunk?” Lance wondered hopefully.

“Can’t,” Hunk said, sighing. “I’m going to visit my family before I go back to the Balmera.”

“How did you leave Pidge?” Allura asked before Lance could think of how to get the words out.

“Happy to see her parents,” Hunk said, “except…” His smile faltered. “Well, she’ll have to talk to you herself.”

“What?” Lance said, his curiosity rising as he stepped towards him. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing, nothing!” Hunk raised his hands defensively. “It’s not bad, so don’t worry about it!”

“You know, there’s a funny thing that happens when someone says, ‘Don’t worry about it,’” Lance complained, “and it’s that I _worry about it_.”

“Well, I’m telling you it’ll be fine, man,” Hunk said, rolling his eyes and clapping him on the shoulder. “Anyway, my mom is expecting me for dinner, so…”

After a too-short hug exchanged with both Lance and Allura, Hunk left the hospital, a rumble from the Yellow Lion making the ground tremble beneath their feet.

An awkward silence fell over Lance and Allura, and when she didn’t say anything immediately - while she looked like she sought for something to say - Lance decided he’d rather be anywhere but at a hospital where Pidge lay injured but didn’t want him. He told Allura, “I…should go too. My sister’s expecting me.”

“Coran waiting for me as well,” Allura said with a smile.

“You can stay the night with me and Veronica,” Lance offered. “You’re probably tired after traveling to Earth, and I can sleep on the couch so you can take the spare—”

“No, I should be leaving Earth,” Allura said, lacking any hint of regret in her tone. “My people will be missing me.”

Lance walked her outside, and before he could make his farewells, she wrapped her arms around his neck. “Uh…take care, Allura,” he said, returning the hug with his arms loose around her abdomen.

“You too, Lance,” she said, pulling away.

Lance didn’t watch her leave, his gaze instead traveling to the window he thought belonged to Pidge’s room. If he closed his eyes, he could picture her pushing ugly yellow curtains aside to find him, her hands raised in a wave and a smile tugging at her lips.

But it was all a fancy, for he had a feeling it would be a while before Pidge would want to talk, much less smile at him.

* * *

Veronica picked up the phone after only a ring, and before Lance could so much as greet her, she said, “Let me guess:  you’re only calling to ask about Pidge.”

Lance extended his legs out in front of him, careful to at least keep his toes off the sidewalk that separated the bench from the wide expanse of white sand. And to Veronica he denied, “No, I was calling because I missed my sister.”

“No way,” Veronica said. “That sounds fake; you _never_ call me just because you miss me.”

“There’s a first time for everything?” Lance suggested.

“All right, fine, I’ll bite.” The smirk was obvious in her voice. “If this conversation goes five minutes without you talking about Pidge, I will…pay for your first date with her.”

Lance gritted his teeth as an odd flutter filled his stomach. “W-why would I go on a date with Pidge?” he demanded.

“Aha, you lose the bet!” Veronica crowed.

“Hey!” Lance sat upright and held his phone in front of him. “That shouldn’t count! I was commenting on something _you_ said first!”

“Aw, that’s okay, Lance,” she soothed as if speaking to a crying baby. “I know you like the princess anyway.”

Lance squirmed, the comment not sitting right with him, but rolled his eyes and grumbled, “Fine, since I’ve already lost this stupid bet, will you tell me how Pidge is?”

“Are you still sulking about her getting hurt on your last mission?”

“No!” Lance exclaimed. But he slumped in the bench, his feet scuffing through grass and windblown sand, and brought his phone back to his ear as he muttered, “Yeah…”

Well, that and—

“Why don’t you ask her for yourself?” Veronica wondered.

“I’ve tried,” Lance said, sighing and rubbing his face. “She never answers.” Because he always called at the wrong time…or she refused to pick up.

“Ah, and you think she might blame you?”

“She…didn’t before,” he said. “Why would she change her mind about that?”

“I don’t think she would, Lance,” Veronica said irritably. “I don’t know why she’s not talking to you, but it won’t be because she blames you for trying to save her life, so quit feeling sorry for yourself and be patient.”

Lance scowled, the lecture not what he needed. “I’m not a patient person.”

“I’m _shocked_ ,” Veronica said, her tone dripping irony.

He hunched his shoulders and elected to change the subject, “Look, is she all right or not?”

“She looked fine last time I saw her a few days ago,” Veronica said, “and Commander Holt seems happy with her recovery. She’s got a lot of admirers too; mostly cadets that are as geeky as she is and probably want to be just like her, but I’m pretty sure she turns the heads of a couple of young, attractive and single officers too.”

“All right,” Lance said, his voice cracking while something hot and unpleasant sat in his gut, “I have to go to work soon, so I’m hanging up now.”

“Aw, Lance—”

He ended the call, slipping his phone back into his jacket pocket and glowering at the ocean. Hours ahead of sunset, the waves glistened blue, a crowd of tourists enjoying the heat and water.

Lance longed to join them, or to at least slink off to one of the smaller, quieter beaches preferred by locals, but he hadn’t lied when he hung up on Veronica. He wore his work uniform - an ugly orange polo shirt with his name embroidered in white thread and in cursive over the breast pocket and khaki shorts - minus the apron and was merely whiling away the last half-hour until his shift started.

His pocket vibrated, and Lance pouted, half-expecting Veronica calling him to tease him even more. He pulled it out of his pocket and, without glancing at the caller ID, answered, “I don’t want to talk if you’re just going to make fun of—”

“Lance?”

Pidge’s voice was the last he expected, but it rang through loud and clear, a rush of warmth and _relief_ forcing a gasp out of him.

He hadn’t spoken to her since he left the Garrison after the mission to Nimrene, never even answered his calls.

“P-Pidge,” he said, sitting up in surprise.

“Lance, I…hi,” she said.

They spoke together:

“H-how are you?”

“How’ve you been?”

Lance’s heart skipped a beat as he burst into laughter, Pidge’s answering giggles music to his ears. “You done avoiding me?” he wondered when he caught his breath.

“I…yeah, I think I am.”

“You tried to deny it, didn’t you?” Lance accused, although despite the reality, he couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his lips.

“Guess you know me better than I thought,” Pidge said, snorting. “But…Matt and Hunk both convinced me to talk to you.”

His heart dropped into his stomach. “O-oh.”

“I-I would’ve talked to you again eventually!” Pidge hurriedly added, and he could picture her waving her arms, her eyes wide and almost frantic. “I had my reason for not answering your calls; I just had a few things to figure out first.”

“And did you?” Lance breathed.

“Yeah,” Pidge said, “I think I did. And before you ask what I figured out—”

He rubbed the back of his neck and laughed, despite the odd, anxious thump of his heart.

“—I promise I’ll tell you when it’s your business to find out.”

Lance opened his mouth to argue, but he knew from her tone that she’d refuse to budge.

Besides, Pidge always kept her promises, so he held onto this one, tucking it close to his heart and letting it warm him from the inside out.

* * *

"You know what hasn't changed?"

"What?"

"How quiznaking _boring_ these meetings are." Pidge folded her arms and rested them on the conference table, her chin propped on them as her eyes glazed over, a view now unobstructed by glasses.

Had her face always been so…heart-shaped?

"Meetings I don't miss," Lance agreed. He leaned his chair back on its hind legs, his feet firm on the floor, while listening to a Coalition representative drone on and on and on about flushing out the last of the Galra Empire's loyalists.

Garrison officers leaned forward, gaze attentive, but Lance only tugged on the tight uniform collar - why had he let Veronica sway him from wearing his armor? - and doodled a stick figure in the margin of the notebook he was meant to be taking actual notes in.

Pidge served as another distraction. When they met again for the first time in two months that morning after parting after the mission to Nimrene, she'd jumped into his arms, throwing hers around his neck and giving him a whiff of a floral shampoo and cinnamon-flavored chewing gum.

As she pulled away, her lips brushed his neck, and Lance couldn't shake the sensation away, not when the touch made goosebumps rise from his skin and left his heart pounding.

He couldn't even tell if it was an _accident_ ; something about it felt too deliberate, like she'd kissed him but without the pressure.

But Pidge wouldn't—would she?

Lance dropped his chair back to the floor, flashing a nonchalant grin at James Griffin when he shot him a dirty look for making noise, and scribbled a line on his notepad. He then slid it along the table towards Pidge, poking her arm with his pen.

Her head lifted, an eyebrow raised at him. _What?_ she mouthed, until he poked her with the notepad again. Her eyes widened in understanding as she read his note, and she took his pen to write a reply in her familiar chicken scratch.

A smile tugged at his lips when he read Pidge's words beneath his, accepting the invitation.

The end of this meeting couldn't arrive soon enough.

* * *

"I remember this bar being...bigger," Lance admitted, his eyes roving over the room filled with the noise of more people than it should hold. Earthlings and aliens and civilians and officers alike pushed their way through a crowd to get to a bar to order drinks or struggled to find an empty table.

"I'm just surprised this place is still standing," Pidge said. "And it might just look smaller because it's more crowded; it's the only bar in town now."

"Really?" Lance led the way to the bar, using his elbows to clear a route for him and Pidge. "What happened to the others?"

"You mean, _besides_ an alien invasion bringing Earth's economy to its knees?"

Her almost nonchalant question stunned Lance speechless, so he almost didn’t notice when they found a single empty stool at the bar. He carefully leaned against the bar, leaving the stool empty for Pidge, and she accepted his wordless invitation.

Crowded and _loud_ as it was here, it forced her to lean in close to him to say directly into his ear, “Don’t you want to sit?”

“I sat long enough at the meeting,” he retorted. “I think I’m good standing now.”

“Fine,” she said, reaching into a hidden pocket in her uniform. “I’ll buy.”

“N-no!” he argued, straightening to dig through his own pockets. “I will.”

“No, let me,” Pidge said, already with a few bills clutched in her hand.

“Hey,” Lance said, narrowing his eyes at them, “are those _GAC_?”

“What?” Pidge examined them, and Lance took the opportunity to slam a twenty onto the bar and signal for the bartender to take their order.

“That…was a dirty trick,” Pidge grumbled after the bartender took his money and went to prepare their drinks. “These aren’t GAC!”

“You didn’t know that when I said it,” Lance pointed out. When she just glared at him, he laughed and threw an arm around her shoulders. “Just let me do something nice for you, Pidge.”

Her shoulders tensed, her lip between her teeth - and why did the sight of _that_ make blood rush to his face? - and eyes fixed on the bar. “F-fine,” she gritted out.

The bartender arrived with their drinks, and Lance grabbed his and sipped at the fruity beverage.

Pidge glanced sideways at him and wondered, “Not trying your luck with any girls tonight?”

Lance set his drink down, leaning towards her so she could hear him clearly without him shouting, and said, “Why would I do that? I’m here to spend time with you.”

Pidge nearly choked on her drink, bursting into a fit of coughs. Lance, alarmed, patted her back, but she waved off his concern. “I-I’m fine.”

"This isn’t so safe, huh?” Lance said, laughing. “I kind of wish I'd suggested bowling instead, but bowling's not much fun with only two people."

"Oh, the bowling alley hasn't been refurbished either," Pidge said, sipping her drink more cautiously. "Wish the arcade would be; I'm half-tempted to submit a bull grant to the Garrison and, if they give me the money, use it to fix up and reopen that arcade."

"Wouldn't they find out what you were really using that money for?"

"Yeah, but then I'd just point out that I'm using it for _exactly_ what I applied to." Her eyes twinkled with mischief when she turned to him. "It's all about careful phrasing."

“You’re evil,” Lance pronounced, unable to keep the awe from his voice. “We should’ve taken you down after Haggar.”

Pidge winking at him over her nearly empty glass did something to his heart. “So no arcade, but we can hang out at my place instead?”

“You don’t live with your parents anymore?” Lance said, surprised.

“I moved out a few weeks ago after the infirmary discharged me,” Pidge said. “It’s a tiny apartment, and I go to my parents’ almost every night for dinner. I just wanted some space of my own.” She laughed sheepishly, her face flushed with alcohol or embarrassment. “And it’s not like I can bring men home to my parents’ house.”

“Pidge,” Lance said, his voice cracking with nerves, “if I didn’t know any better I’d think you were trying to take _me_ home.”

Pidge giggled, but then she groaned and buried her face in her hands, saying, “It’s just a dumb joke.”

Lance’s heart clenched…because Pidge not really hitting on him proved disappointing? He ignored it though and said, “I do want to get out of here.”

“We _can_ go back to mine,” Pidge offered, lifting her face and nodding towards the door, hidden by the crowd inside. “I scrounged up another vintage game from a swap meet.”

“Unilu?”

“Undoubtedly,” Pidge said with an amused grin.

“I still can’t believe I let _you_ take the Gameflux,” Lance whined. He drained his glass but shook his head when the beleaguered bartender asked if he wanted another, then leaned sideways against the bar, facing Pidge.

She smirked and said, “It’s what you get for keeping it in _your_ bedroom on the Castle.” She grabbed his arm and tugged him closer, his heart skipping a beat till he realized someone was trying to sidle up to the bar behind him.

“There was no room in yours!” Lance protested.

“Plenty of room in it now that I have space to spread my stuff out,” Pidge added.

“Oh, so what you’re saying is that I can walk around your apartment _without_ getting a silicone chip stuck between my toes?”

“First of all, it’s _silicon_ , not silicone,” Pidge said, rolling her eyes. “ _Silicone_ is usually rubber—”

“English isn’t my first language,” Lance grumbled.

“—and second of all, I never left anything like that lying around.” Pidge rested her chin in the palm of her hand. “I kept them in a drawer.”

“Then what was I stepping on?” he demanded, flailing an arm. “Your room was a danger zone! How did your fluffy pets not choke on anything?”

“I made sure they stayed fed,” Pidge said, shrugging. “Also they’re smarter than they look.”

“If I go to your place today, is a monster going to emerge from the depths and eat my face off while we play video games?”

Pidge laughed and retorted, “You think I’m hiding some sentient ooze in my bedroom?”

“I think some sentient ooze is hiding from _you_ ,” Lance said.

Pidge snorted, resting a small hand - since when did she wear nail polish? - on his chest as she said, “Want to take that chance anyway?”

His heart skipped a beat under her hand, and he swallowed, taking in her slight smile and how closely she sat and the color obvious in her cheeks despite the bar’s low light. And as heat rushed to his face, the realization struck.

Pidge was flirting with him.

Lance’s brain ground to a halt, his jaw dropping as he sought a response to her question. If he wanted to leave with her…to return to her apartment…where they’d be alone in a more quiet place…

An image of him kissing Pidge rose to the surface of his mind. He pictured how he would tilt her head to catch her lips with his, how her hands would tug on the collar of his shirt to pull him closer, his fingers teasing at the buttons of her uniform jacket until—

“Lance?”

Lance jumped, his gaze snapping to Pidge’s face, and he shook away a vision so vivid he wondered if he’d dreamed it before. “What?”

Pidge frowned. “You want to go back to mine and play video games or not?”

_Oh._

His heart dropped like a stone through the surface of a pond, the disappointment heavy. Pidge hadn’t been expressing interest in him; she just wanted to kick his ass on the Gameflux for old time’s sake! He should be _relieved_.

And yet…

Lance swallowed and smiled. “Hey, if it means going somewhere without this crowd, why would I say no?”

“You _like_ crowds though,” Pidge said, although she hopped off her barstool.

Lance followed, dodging a flying elbow and grabbing Pidge’s hand so the crowd couldn’t separate them. “Not when everyone’s ignoring me. We’re _celebrities_ , Pidge! People should be asking for our autographs.”

Pidge scoffed, “Please, I’m a fixture at the Garrison, and with _literal_ , _actual_ aliens on Earth we’re hardly the strangest people here.”

“But we _saved Earth_!” Lance emphasized as they pushed their way through the door and into fresh evening air.

Outside Lance no longer had to raise his voice - or speak close to her ear - for Pidge to hear him.

It was too bad; he liked standing close enough to her that his lips nearly brushed her ear when he spoke, when all she had to do was turn her head, and their eyes would meet, and the attractive force of her gaze would pull him in for a—

“That’s old news now,” Pidge said, cutting off yet another unwelcome - more welcome that it should be? - daydream. “Besides, journalists are banned from Garrison premises unless they’re invited. I thought you knew that?”

Lance shrugged. “It’s been two months since I’ve been here.”

“And…you miss turning heads?” She led him along the sidewalk, passing shops with boarded up or broken windows, where fewer people walked. “I don’t; I get more done without that to distract me.”

“You…working on anything interesting?” Lance wondered.

Pidge blinked in surprise, then flashed him a pleased smile. “Ever wonder how far we can send and receive intergalactic transmissions?”

“Uh…sure?”

“Soon you’ll be wondering no longer.” Pidge’s grin widened as she started rambling on about her projects, growing more and more animated as she spoke.

Lance followed along as best as he could while they walked out of town and towards the Garrison housing complex, and when he asked pointed questions or for clarification about something, Pidge’s eyes would widen in surprise, her hand squeezing his.

He’d almost forgotten she was holding it.

Pidge’s hand was slippery in his by the time they climbed the stairs to her apartment. She let go of his to dig through her pockets, fumbling a jingling set of keys before she inserted one and unlocked the door.

“Your apartment number is five?” Lance observed before he followed her inside.

Pidge smiled sheepishly. “Don’t tell Coran.”

Lights flicked on as he took off his shoes, revealing a living room big enough for only a single worn-out couch with ugly floral upholstery and a small kitchen that would give Hunk nightmares. And, just as Lance predicted, Pidge had made herself _comfortable_.

“I can feel my face being eaten already,” Lance complained, eying the piles of binders and what looked like half a microwave on the kitchen table.

“At least the floor is clear?” Pidge offered, gesturing around the living room.

“Yeah, but…” He pointed at the cluttered kitchen counter - and _nothing_ sitting there was necessary for preparing food - and said, “Hunk would be so disappointed in you.”

“Good thing he’s not here then,” Pidge said with a chuckle. “It’s just you and me tonight.”

“Oh, so I shouldn’t expect you to honor me with a party?”

“I offered to buy your drink at the bar,” she retorted, resting her hands on her hips. “It’s not my fault you double-crossed me.”

Lance laughed and dropped onto the sofa without invitation, sinking into the worn and faded fabric. He loosened the top button of his uniform and watched Pidge turn her back to him, her fingers working at her own buttons till she shrugged off the jacket and draped it over a kitchen chair.

“See, that’s why your place is such a mess,” Lance said, tactfully giving Pidge - now only dressed in slacks and a black tank top that did little to hide her slight curves - a wide berth when she sat on the opposite end of the couch. “You never put away your clothes.”

“Then I guess you won’t be going into my room?”

“Is there something in your room for me to see?”

The words slipped out of his mouth without his permission, his throat drying up the instant he heard his unwitting suggestiveness. But he quickly backtracked, “I mean, the video games are right here.” He pointed to the familiar Gameflux tucked into a shelf underneath a wide screen hanging from the wall. “All we need is a snack, and we’ll be good to go!”

“Right,” Pidge said, sounding bemused. She stood to go to the kitchen, distant enough that Lance exhaled in relief while she rummaged through a pantry. “How do you feel about caramel corn?”

“Don’t you have to make the caramel?”

“Uh…” Pidge glanced over her shoulder. “Want to help me?”

Lance chuckled and got to his feet. “Sure.”

He read through the short list of ingredients while she gathered them, and after turning the stove on to mix the sugar and butter, he leaned against the counter beside her, elbows propped up.

“You can take off your jacket, you know,” Pidge commented while she mixed.

“I’m comfortable like this,” Lance lied.

She raised an eyebrow - of course she’d see through him - and rolled her eyes. “Don’t worry, I’ll let you hang it up in the closet if it means so much to you.”

“How kind of you,” Lance teased. He flicked a few loose strands of hair away from her face. “Your hair’s kind of long now; maybe you should wear a hairnet?”

Pidge wrinkled her nose. “My hair’s not _that_ long,” she said. “It’s been longer. Pop the corn, will you?”

Lance blinked, surprised at the rapid subject change, but obliged, sticking the paper bag in the microwave. He watched it spin for a few seconds, glancing sideways when Pidge approached.

“Think Hunk would be proud of us?” she said.

“Don’t know,” Lance said, grinning. “We can take a picture of the caramel corn and show him.”

Pidge returned his smile, standing by with her phone while he mixed the caramel into the popped corn. When he finished, he held up the bowl with a smirk, but before she could snap the photo, he tugged her towards him by the arm and said, “Let’s take one together instead?”

“O-okay,” Pidge said, her answering smile wide as she held up the phone.

Lance leaned his head against hers, then reached behind her to flash a peace sign. The phone’s shutter sounded, and Pidge looked down at the screen…without moving out of his space.

She stood in the fold of his arm, and with his face hot he averted his eyes from the view down her tank top afforded him. His heart pounded, his jacket making him uncomfortably hot.

He shouldn’t have stood so close to a lit stove.

Pidge tilted her head back to look at him, her lips parted right as her grin faltered.

Lance set the popcorn bowl on the counter behind him, his gaze never leaving her face.

How had he never noticed that constellation of freckles on the bridge of her nose? Or her eyes, all those shades of brown blending seamlessly together? Or her lips, perfect and pink and—

Pressed against his.

A surprised gasp escaped Lance, but before Pidge could pull away he caught her face in his hands and kissed her.

He felt the instant her breath caught, the warmth of it brushing his face. Her fingers clutched at the front of his jacket to pull him closer, her arm wrapped around his neck. Her teeth scraped his bottom lip, sending heat shooting through his body.

Pidge pressed forward until Lance’s back hit the counter, and she fumbled at the buttons of his jacket. When they parted to breathe, she mumbled, “T-told you to take it o-off…”

Lance breathlessly retorted, “D-didn’t know this is what you had in mind.” His hands fell to her waist and he leaned in to kiss her again.

But Pidge cupped his face, her eyes holding his captive. “Y-you’re always on my mind.”

The confession made some part of his heart that wasn’t racing with _want_ for her stutter, some distant, primal part of his brain gripping him with foreboding.

It should’ve given him second thoughts, should’ve convinced him to step away, to keep his clothes on and return to his sister’s place. Pidge was one of his best friends, and he owed her his life a hundred times over.

His chest tightened - did his heart know something he didn’t? - but he chose to ignore it.

And with Pidge unbuttoning his jacket and slipping her hands inside to slide it off, it grew harder to think.

So he didn’t.

* * *

“Where did you learn to flirt like that?” Lance idly traced circles on Pidge's shoulder, his hand skimming over her bare arm, while she leaned against his chest, more relaxed than he’d ever seen her.

"You mean you haven't figured it out?" Pidge tilted her head back - she could probably see up his nose from that position - while a mischievous glint lit up her brown eyes.

"Uh...no?" Lance said, uncertain. He took one of her hands and interlaced their fingers, marveling at how much _smaller_ and more slender hers were.

She reached up with her hand that wasn't occupied with his and ran her knuckles along his jaw, leaving a soft heat on his skin. "I learned from you."

"What?" His eyes widened, his fingers squeezing hers, but he grew suspicious thanks to Pidge's obvious mirth. "No way; I was never this successful."

(And in this instant he'd define "success" as actually falling into bed with his object of affection, which…never happened before _this_.)

"Yeah, but that's because you always tried to flirt with girls that didn't want you." Pidge rolled away from him and sat up, leaving his body cold, as she flashed him a smirk. "Should've saved yourself the trouble and flirted with me first."

Warmth spread through Lance's chest - but it was at odds with a sudden pang of regret. He'd never wanted a girl half so much as he wanted - needed? - Pidge, but the promise of death hung over the head of anyone he fell for.

"Also, I improved on your technique by observing Matt," Pidge added.

Lance scowled and rested his head on his hands, leaning back against the pillows. "Wow, I'm flattered."

Pidge leaned down and kissed his forehead, and he softened instantly. He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her on top of him, her hands resting on his shoulders.

Then _all_ her words hit, and Lance wondered, "Wait, how long have you liked me?"

She flushed a deep red, practically glowing in the dark, her eyes drifting away from his face while she nibbled her lip in a way he knew meant she fought a smile. "I actually don't know," she admitted. "It's...been a while, long enough that I tried to get over it because I didn't think something could come out of it." She laughed and rested her forehead against his. “You know it’s hard for me to…talk about my feelings, Lance.”

Lance didn't know if it was possible to feel more _fond_ , not with a flutter in his chest and the smile pushing at his lips. "Then why did you finally...do something about it?" he asked, cupping her face between his hands.

"I had a hypothesis you were attracted to me," Pidge admitted with a slight smile. "I've seen what that looks like on you, even if it was never directed at me." Her smile turned strained, but it brightened again as she added, "Kissing you was a bit of a gamble, but so far it's paid off."

"Well, you must be the square root of two because I feel irrational around you," Lance said.

Pidge stared at him for a beat before she burst into laughter, her forehead falling against his shoulder. "W-was that a pickup line?"

"What?" Lance placed his hands on her waist, enjoying the feeling of her laughing against him. "You just reminded me I've never used one on you, and it seemed overdue."

Pidge lifted her head and grinned. "Then got any other tricks up your sleeve?"

“What sleeves?” he wondered. “I’m not wearing any clothes.”

She raised an eyebrow. "Anything else I should know about then?"

Lance smirked. "As a matter of fact, I do. Got a deck of cards lying around?"

"Uh...I might," Pidge said with a note of wariness in her voice, but she rolled off him and crawled out of bed - regrettably since Lance instantly missed her weight and warmth, although he got quite the eyeful in exchange - to walk to her desk. The slide of a drawer and the sound of her rummaging filled the shadowy, moonlit bedroom.

When she returned she sat cross-legged on the bed beside him, dropping a deck of cards tied together with a rubber band onto the pillow. "It might be missing a card or two," she warned, "or maybe just the jokers."

"I don't need them anyway," Lance said. He sat up and took the deck, unwinding the rubber band and shuffling the cards. He smiled at the familiar _snick_ of cards slotting back together.

It had been a while since he performed a card trick - his niece figured them out long ago and no longer appreciated the mystery - so he couldn't help his glee as he split the deck in two.

Pidge tucked her legs under the blankets, her hands resting in her lap, and quipped, "You know, there's no point in playing strip poker considering we're both completely—"

"No, this is an actual card trick, Pidge," Lance said, although his skin heated up at the reminder. He spread the deck between his hands under Pidge's watchful eye. He showed her their faces and commanded, "Pick a card and don't tell me which one."

She raised an eyebrow and said, "This is a pretty cliche trick, Lance."

"Are you saying you know how I do it?" Lance said, shooting her an unimpressed glance.

"I...don't." She smiled sheepishly and glanced at the cards. "Take it out?"

"Yeah! Then put it back."

"All right." Pidge stuck the card back in on the opposite end she picked it from...playing right into his hands.

Lance kept his face carefully blank as he combined the cards into a pile. He shuffled through them, landing on the queen of hearts, which he plucked out and showed Pidge. "Is this your card?"

Her brow scrunched, and for a heartbeat he wondered if he forgot a step to the trick, until she frowned and said, "Yes."

"Oh, good, I've still got my touch." He laughed and leaned towards her until her breath warmed his face. "Are you seduced yet?"

Pidge shoved his face away and said, "Tell me how you did the trick first."

"A magician never reveals his secrets, Pidge."

"Fine," she said, rolling her eyes. "Do it again so I can figure it out."

Lance agreed, and, to his shock, it only took two repeats for Pidge to find his trick.

"You split the deck into black and red so the card I picked and put back stood out if I returned it into the opposite color." Pidge crossed her arms, a smug grin on her face while Lance squirmed.

He groaned and nodded dejectedly.

Pidge pumped her fist with a triumphant laugh before wrapping her arms around his neck and whispering into his ear, "What other secrets are you hiding, Lance?"

He shivered, and not just because of the suggestiveness in her tone and the way her body pressed against his, not when a different secret weighed heavily on him. But Pidge's heat and her lips brushing his ear distracted him, tore his mind away from an uncertain future and into the now, where the beautiful woman he was more and more convinced owned some part of his heart ran her hands down his back as she kissed him.

"Let's take each other to the limit and see if we converge," Pidge muttered when they parted breathlessly.

"Th-that was another math pickup line...right?" Lance guessed.

Pidge hummed in agreement or pleasure or both when he pressed his lips to the junction of her neck and shoulder, her fingers scratching his scalp. "I-I guess you never took calculus," she said.

Lance shook his head and murmured into her skin, "All I know is that I want to lie tangent to your curves."

Pidge snorted before it devolved into uproarious laughter, her body arching away from his with the force of it. He watched her laugh, a matching grin on his face and a prideful warmth in his stomach that he could get this reaction from her.

"Quiznak, Katie, I—”

He choked on the words, unable to get them out, but when Pidge caught her breath, a smile still on her red face, she cupped his cheek. "Lance? Are you—”

"I'm fine," he told her, but the grin he forced on felt more like a grimace. "Just realized how tired I am; you exhausted me."

Pidge patted his cheek. "Then let's go to sleep. I wouldn't mind letting you seduce me next time."

"Pretty sure _you_ were doing the seducing," Lance grumbled, even while his heart raced at the thought of a _next time_.

After lying down, Lance wrapped his arms around Pidge's waist, pulling her against his chest. She leaned her head back with a contented hum, her hands clutching his wrists before one traveled up his arm and back down again.

He could tuck her head neatly under his chin, or bury his nose in her mussed hair - he wondered if she smelled like him and he smelled like her after only one night together - and feel her heart pound in time with his. And for one lovely instant he imagined sleeping every night and waking every morning like this, in a warm bed alongside Pidge, where they might as well be the only two people on Earth for all the attention they paid it.

Until the memory of a tent darker than a black hole, with pupil-less yellow eyes flashing to white, rose in his mind.

Pidge's soft voice, a low murmur he couldn't make out, interrupted Lance's bleak thoughts. Her breathing evened out as she slipped into sleep, a relaxed expression on her face.

It soothed Lance's nerves enough that he clutched her tighter and closed his own eyes, determined to follow her into dreams.

* * *

Darkness filled the chapel on Lance’s wedding day, the faces of the guests hidden in deep shadows, the priest officiating the marriage wearing a mask with a wide gaping mouth. And the bride…

Lance squeezed her small hands, a simple white-gold ring already in place on her finger, a matching silver band on his. He smiled, his chest fit to burst while heat pricked at his eyes.

_“You may now kiss the bride,”_ the priest intoned, his voice echoing throughout the cavernous chapel.

Lance took the bride’s gossamer-thin veil in his hands, but before he could lift it, a drop of color on the bodice of her white dress caught his eye. “What’s—”

The bride lurched forward with a gasp, and he caught her in his arms. She leaned heavily against him, and his heart pounded with dread when something warm soaked through his jacket and shirt.

With his heart in his throat, Lance lowered her to the ground, careful not to jostle her. He clutched her close, swallowing around a lump.

Red bloomed from her chest, rapidly staining her gown. Her breathing came raggedly, her veil fluttering, a spot of blood appearing just over where her mouth would be.

“N-no, no,” Lance said, shaking his head in denial. He grasped her hand tightly in his, her grip returning the pressure with dwindling strength. “No, this wasn’t—I hoped it wouldn’t _happen_!”

“ _The love of your life will die on your wedding day,_ _”_ the priest, standing impassively over them, reminded him.

“N-not if I don’t marry her!” Lance said, scowling. His hands trembled, but resolve spurred him on. He slipped the ring from his bride’s finger and tore the band off his own, throwing them into the shadows that lay thickly over the chapel’s interior. “There! We’re not married, so she can’t die!”

“That’s not how it w-works, Lance,” the bride murmured in an achingly familiar voice. Her small, blood-stained hand rose to rest against his cheek, her skin so much cooler than his.

“N-no,” he said, tears building in the corners of his eyes. He covered her hand with his, finding her other one and holding it to his chest, right over his beating heart. “Y-you can’t! I-I didn’t even see who did this!”

“Lance…” The bride shuddered, and her hand fell away from his face.

“N-no!” he shouted, his grip on her tightening as the life left her body. A sob shook him, and he choked, “Please, don’t leave me, K—”

Lance inhaled sharply, jerking upright with a gasp. He swiveled his head around frantically, trying to process his unfamiliar surroundings:  shadowed and cluttered desk in the corner, dresser with a vanity mirror, closet with an open door, and…

Pidge beside him, her eyes wide as she sat up slower than he had. “Lance?”

“Quiznak,” he muttered, covering his face to muffle a sheepish laugh, “I didn’t mean to wake you up. It was just a nightmare.”

But his heart still pounded even as he settled back against the pillows, staring up at a ceiling covered in glow-in-the-dark stars.

He didn’t realize he was crying until Pidge’s thumbs wiped under his eyes, the gesture - and her brow furrowed in concern - shifting something inside him.

It _couldn_ _’t_ be Pidge. He knew her for years before this…evolution in their relationship; shouldn’t he have felt this for her sooner if she was fated to be the love of his life?

But the fear that gripped him now, that her touch couldn’t quite soothe, was so…familiar. And unlike horror at the prospect of an enemy torturing Pidge, this fear wasn’t so easily offset by anger.

There was no one he could direct it at, no one but himself.

Lance’s chest tightened, making it difficult to breathe, so he rolled away from Pidge. He sat up, avoiding her eyes as he swung his feet out of bed, and said, “I need some air.”

He didn’t flinch when she rested her hand on his shoulder. “D-do you want me to come with you?”

“No, I’m—I’ll be fine.” He offered her a strained smile, but far from looking relieved, she frowned.

“Lance, if you want to talk about it—”

“Trust me, Pidge,” he said, crouching on the floor and feeling around for where his pants disappeared to, “I don’t think that’ll help.”

No, if he told anyone, her fate - if it belonged to her and not some other woman - would be sealed, and he’d have only himself to blame.

He grabbed his discarded clothes and dressed hurriedly, conscious of Pidge’s gaze on him, concerned rather than lustful. As he searched for his shirt and jacket - belatedly remembering that he’d lost those in the _kitchen_ \- he told her, “Go back to sleep, Pidge.” He turned towards her bedroom door.

“I…you’ll come back, right?”

Her soft question stopped him short, his hand frozen on the doorknob. “I—yes,” he promised.

He already knew it for a lie.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what is pacing?? no, seriously, as long as this chapter was, it would’ve been longer if i hadn’t changed its entire direction, which resulted in both written AND unwritten scenes being cut or pushed back (which is why there are to be ten rather than eight total chapters). some of the previously written scenes got rewritten or absorbed into other scenes (the one i affectionately call the Card Trick Scene is loosely a rewrite with a slightly different ending to the original), aaaand maybe once i finish this fic there’s at least one scene (seriously i have a Very Fluffy Scene that i hated cutting but i had to and still want to share it) that, apart from an occurrence and a couple lines of dialogue, is dissimilar enough from the rest of the fic (especially tonally muahaha) that i’ll be posting as an outtake <3
> 
> until then...yes, "Nimrene" is totally a bastardization of the Arabic word for "tiger" ("nimr")


	4. Now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance struggles to remember why he can't afford cold feet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry ~~not sorry~~ about last chapter?? Enjoy this one??
> 
> (sorry it's so short. the stuff that was supposed to happen in this chapter got split between two when i did some plot rejiggering, but even the Wedding chapters will get a bit longer after this one)

Lance wondered if he was a masochist, if forcing himself to walk back into the chapel invited pain. And so soon after the Unilu photographer's reminder...

Pidge's absence stung, yet he envied it. But he couldn't afford to miss his own wedding.

Could he?

Coran left him just inside to check on Allura, and Lance idled beside the back door, his hands stuffed into his trouser pockets while he contemplated his possible escape. Flee his fate while no one could witness it...it was appealing.

He half-turned towards the door, limbs tense and prepared for a mad dash - back to the hotel, back to his parents' house, back to wherever Pidge was - before the chapel's kitchen door swung open on creaking hinges.

"—you _mean_ the hors d'oeuvres aren't ready yet?" Hunk demanded, speaking loudly into a phone. "We're serving those cold since it's so quiznaking hot outside, so they need to get cooked so they have time to cool, Sal. No, I don't care if you only like hot food. The weather here doesn't allow for that!"

Lance froze as Hunk passed him, offering a brief nod and a smile that vanished as soon as Sal - his sous chef for the reception's catering? - spoke, his tinny voice barely decipherable through the phone's speakers.

"Listen, Sal, do you not understand that this is _Princess Allura's_ wedding?" Hunk wondered, standing with an arm crossed over his chest and his foot tapping furiously against the linoleum floor. "Do you not get that she's also marrying my _best friend_ and that it needs to be perfect for _them_?"

Lance sighed, tilting his head back to stare at the ceiling. It was hardly an extravagant affair - even Allura chafed at the big, fancy, state wedding, although Coran already planned a party for her upon their arrival to New Altea - but Hunk's enthusiasm for the food made shame twist in his gut.

Likely as not, he'd be too sick with nerves and guilt to eat much at the reception.

"Great, that's perfect, Sal," Hunk said, disrupting his thoughts. "You do that, and if there are any more problems, don't call me. The ceremony's starting in...what time does the ceremony start, Lance?"

He flinched, surprised at being addressed, but tugged his sleeve up to check his watch.

His stomach flipped when he saw the time.

"It starts in less than an hour," Lance told him. He plastered a grin onto his face - one that Hunk, of all people, would surely see through - and added, "Soon I'll be a married man. No more goofing off for me, am I right?"

Hunk bid Sal goodbye and tucked his phone into a suit pocket. "You all right, Lance?" he said, frowning in concern. "You know it's okay to be nervous, right? It _is_ the rest of your life."

"Yeah, I'm fantastic," Lance said. "Sure, I'm not marrying—I mean, I _am_ marrying Allura - who _wouldn't_ envy me? - but it's not like anyone's going to die at this wedding, right?"

Hunk's eyes narrowed, and he approached to smack his shoulder hard enough that Lance suspected his hand would leave behind a bruise. "You know it's not too late to back out, right?"

"It is," Lance argued, crossing his arms and scowling at the floor. A lump sat in his throat - it seemed to live there now, and had for the last two days - as an image of an angry, tear-stained face rose in his mind. "If not, then..."

It had seemed like such a brilliant idea just six months ago...

"Then my mother would kill me," Lance settled on an excuse, "and there _would_ be death at my wedding." He chuckled, actually amused by his own morbid joke.

"Lance, I'm...kind of worried about you now," Hunk admitted. "You'd tell me if something was bothering you, right?"

"And now you really _do_ sound like my mother," he complained, rolling his eyes. "Relax, man. Just enjoy the food you're cooking up for us." He patted Hunk's shoulder and made his escape.

In the wrong direction...

Lance emerged into the chapel, his heart skipping a beat at the sight of the pews filling with guests. Over half weren't human or even flesh and (something like) blood - the sight of Beezer buzzing in anticipation made his chest tighten - but his family still stood out like sore thumbs, each member wearing something blue. Nadia's twin braids had blue ribbons woven into them, Silvio wore a blue bow tie, Rachel painted her fingernails with a glittery sapphire, and even his mother wore a navy dress.

It was a sweet gesture, but Lance couldn't tell if it was meant to honor him...or his bride.

Would they have worn green for Pidge?

The Unilu's prying questions weighed heavily on Lance's mind, so much that his feet carried him towards the last person - besides Pidge herself - that wanted to talk to him.

"Hey, Matt," Lance said, raising his hand in greeting as he approached where he stood with his girlfriend - did she ever wear something other than that elegant white armor? - and Nyma. He swallowed when Matt's sharp and judgmental gaze landed on him but found his courage and plowed ahead, "How's—"

"Cut the ruggle, Lance," Matt interrupted with a scowl.

"Cut...what?" Lance said, his eyes widening. "I just wanted to know h-how P—how your sister is."

Quiznak, it hurt to even say her name.

"Really?" Matt said, scathing skepticism dripping from his tongue. "Because I don't think you actually care."

"What?" Lance's heart sank, but indignation still rose within him as he retorted, "Of course I care!"

"Do you?" Matt crossed his arms, his shoulders stiff. "You care? Then why the ruggle did you break her heart?"

Lance's jaw dropped, and this time he couldn't bring himself to challenge the accusation, not when it shoved a knife into his chest and rang so true.

"I thought I knew what she saw in you, at least at first," Matt explained, pointing at him. "You were one of her first friends, you know—"

_I was?_

"—and you were always mindful of her feelings in a way almost no one else was. And you know what, Lance?" Matt stepped closer until he stood almost nose to nose with him, his eyes narrowed. "If you were marrying Allura because you loved her, I wouldn't even fault you for it; the heart wants what it wants. But what you've done is so much worse."

 _What did she tell her brother?_ Lance wondered, his eyes widening. _What did she tell him about us?_

"You led Pidge on," Matt accused, every word hitting Lance with the force of a bullet tearing through his guts. "You made her think you felt the same for her as she did for you, and now you're getting to ride off into an Altean sunset with someone else."

 _It's to keep Pidge alive and well,_ Lance forced back through his head. _It's for her...it was always her._

"I feel bad for Allura too," Matt added with a sigh, his fury seeming to calm. "She deserves better than you."

"Th-then why are you here?" Lance said once he finally found his voice.

"I'm here for Allura, obviously. Just know that—”

“Matt! Hi.” Veronica cut Matt off when she sidled up to them, offering a smile and a wave over his head at Nyma. She tossed an arm around Lance’s shoulders - he resisted the urge to shove her off, scarcely in the mood - and pointed a finger gun at Matt. “So…how’re your parents? I didn’t see Commander Holt at work last week.”

Matt’s effort to relax was visible, his spine loosening and face smoothing into something more pleasant than what he’d directed at Lance. “He and my mother took a vacation,” he explained with a smile. “Went to the moon; it’s been a while since they had one so…”

“Aw, that’s sweet!” Veronica said. “Are they coming today?”

“They’ll be at the reception,” Matt told her. His smile tightened as he added, “They wouldn’t miss Allura’s wedding for anything.”

Veronica laughed right in Lance’s ear, and he finally pulled away from her with a glare. “What about your sister? How’s she—”

Matt’s hostility returned in full force, a scowl twisting his face as he pointed at Lance. “Why don’t you ask your brother?”

He turned on his heel and retreated, taking his armored girlfriend’s hand and moving as far from him as possible.

Lance watched him with wide eyes, at a loss of what to say or how to defend himself. A pressure sat over his chest, and for a second he forgot how to breathe.

He _couldn_ _’t_ , because Pidge—

Veronica rounded on him, her hands on her hips, and demanded, “Lance, what did you do?”

The lie rose automatically from his throat, “I didn’t do—”

But he did.

She very deliberately took off her glasses and polished the lenses with the hem of her wrap before replacing them. Then she crossed her arms, fingers tapping against them, and wondered, “Are you happy, Lance?”

His jaw dropped, shocked at the pointed and irrelevant question. “Of c—”

“Then why are you sulking at your own wedding?”

Lance stared at her, his heart skipping a beat, and said, “It’s my last day of freedom?”

Veronica raised an eyebrow. “Try again. And wasn’t that _technically_ your bachelor party?”

He shrunk under her gaze, shame lying thickly in his gut despite the lack of any real insinuation in her question. “Last _hour_ of freedom?” Lance said, shrugging. “Not really. It was more like my last day of living in blissful ignorance.”

The last day he could pretend that it all went according to plan, that his feelings for his soon to be wife would grow…and his feelings for Pidge had faded.

He’d tried to tell himself it was worth it, that making two or three people miserable was worthwhile if Pidge lived. And he might’ve been fine with that, if Pidge herself hadn’t brought the illusion crashing down.

“Ah,” Veronica said, a regretful smile curling her lips, “I think I know why you’re upset.”

“…why?” Lance said, wary that she had, somehow, learned to read his mind.

“This is about leaving Earth for New Altea, isn’t it?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> by now you've probably noticed a pattern in the chapters so ;)


	5. Eighteen Months Ago

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance can't spell "The Tailor" without "liar".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tfw reading to _edit_ a fic causes pain ~~i'm sorry~~
> 
> my thanks for [Rueitae](https://rueitae.tumblr.com/) for ~~being the first victim~~ beta reading!!
> 
>  **warning** for some rather candid, though not explicit, discussion of sex. just mentions, really

_“You know, Lance, it was pretty rude of you to ditch me without even helping me clean up the mess we both made in the kitchen…”_

Lance had lost count of the number of times he listened to Pidge’s voice mail, seeking some note of reproach in her voice. And either Pidge disguised her emotions better than he realized, or she still expected him to come back.

The thought of the latter squeezed his heart, and he wondered why he hadn’t answered her call - why he didn’t dial her number himself - and given them both a clean break.

But what would he say that wasn’t too lame to believe? That wasn’t a lie and that didn’t hurt her?

His phone vibrating in his hand jerked him from his thoughts, but before he could elect to ignore it, his eyes caught on the name flashing on the screen.

_Veronica._

He sagged in his seat, tempted to ignore the call, but he already had one missed call from her from the night before - when he’d been too wrapped up in Pidge to think of anything else - and Red made his disapproval known with a low rumble.

“Fine,” he grumbled, half to his Lion and half to his buzzing phone. “Before you say anything,” he said when he picked up, “just know that I’m not dead and you don’t need to tell Mami to start planning my funeral a second time.”

“She might have to anyway,” Veronica said tersely, “because if you don’t tell me where you went last night I might end you myself.”

“I just went out with Pidge after the meeting,” Lance said, trying to inject as much lightness in his voice as he could. He lounged sideways in Red’s pilot chair, the better to feel relaxed despite the twisting in his gut and the heaviness in his heart. “Thought you would’ve seen me leaving with her…”

“I did,” she said, “but you never called me to say you were _spending the night_ with her too.”

_I didn_ _’t…I should’ve…I wanted to._

But he bit back the words and gave a noncommittal hum, hoping Veronica would come to her own conclusions without challenging him.

Naturally, his hopes were realized in the worst way.

“Look at you,” Veronica teased, “finally living up to your _lover boy_ reputation.”

“It wasn’t like that!” he snapped.

Lance knew she was poking fun at him, trying to lighten the mood by pushing his buttons like he often did to others, but this time it rankled him. Flirting was only bluster and fun when falling in love was an occupational hazard, and he’d never turned that attention onto Pidge.

No, there’d always been something different and deeper between them, from a lightness in his chest when he looked at her to the ache in his heart when they were apart for too long to the blood-boiling _fury_ that filled him when someone dared threaten her.

“Well, all right then,” Veronica said, sounding defensive. “I just wanted to know—”

“I’m fine,” Lance interrupted, his frustration growing. “Pidge didn’t murder me and bury my body in the desert.” No matter how much he would’ve deserved it.

“I never thought she would,” Veronica retorted. “That girl is too much in—look, Lance…”

“What?” he said, wary when she trailed off with a sigh.

“You were missing for years—”

“I came back!”

“—and you don’t always make the best decisions,” she plowed on as if he hadn’t tried to interrupt her. “Why else would I worry about you?”

“Because you want to cramp my style?” he grumbled sarcastically. “Veronica, I know you get worried - even though I already have a mother, thanks - but I think my _missing years_ prove I can take care of myself.”

“It’s not that,” Veronica admitted. “I think Mami just worries you’ll leave your family again, and for good this time.”

Lance’s jaw dropped in surprise; he’d suspected, but to hear someone else confirm it aloud… “I…why would I do that?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “Why did you do it the first time?”

“The Blue Lion kidnapped me!” he exclaimed, flailing his free arm. “I couldn’t help it!”

“And what if it kidnaps you again?” Veronica asked.

“Oh, Blue is done with me,” Lance said, huffing out a laugh that sounded painful to his ears, although he couldn’t tell if it was residual hurt from Blue’s long ago rejection or something more recent. “And Red and I are buddies enough that we would _agree_ on that course of action before he whisks me away. Right, Red?”

Red’s agreement tinged their bond, despite Lance noting that conditions applied.

“Okay…” Veronica said, a reluctant note of agreement in her voice. But she inhaled and, to his relief, changed the subject, “So what did you do with Pidge last night?”

His eyes widened, and he scrambled for an excuse. “We, uh, we went to a bar first,” he said. “Didn’t stay long - just got a drink each, not even enough to get drunk. Then…went back to hers and…talked?”

“Why is that a question?”

“It’s not!” Lance hurriedly denied. “We talked and we made popcorn, but we…or I, uh, I left.”

That, at least, wasn’t technically a lie, but why couldn’t he be honest about this? What made him bite his tongue and fumble for more innocent reasons than simply sleeping over at his best friend's place?

Well, for one, it _was_ a private matter. And for another…maybe the fewer that knew anything about him and Pidge, the less shame would writhe inside him, and the less likely the fortune would apply to her.

“I see,” Veronica said, her tone indecipherable. “Where did you go? Since you definitely didn’t make it back to my place.”

“I, uh, I flew home,” Lance admitted, sitting up and rubbing the back of his neck.

“Home?”

“Yeah,” he said, frowning. “That place where I live with my family; maybe you’ve been there?”

But when he’d caught sight of the sun rising over the ocean, he hadn’t felt the usual calm and relief that swept over him at the sight. Too consumed with his own guilt and shame and the impression of a thread tied between him and Pidge growing more and more taut with each kilometer of distance he put between them…

“You—fine, okay!” Veronica said, and he could picture her throwing up her hands in aggravation. “I did my job - ask where you went and where you are - and the rest is up to you. Just don’t tell Mami you spent at least part of the night at a woman’s place; she’d kill you.”

She didn’t know the half of it, but Lance promised and bid her goodbye.

He looked up, glaring at his indistinct reflection on the console in Red’s cockpit in lieu of his sister’s face, except…

A spot of color on his neck peeking out from over the collar of his jacket caught his eye, and he frowned as he tugged it out of the way. He ran his thumb over the bruise - the love bite - while heat ran to his face.

If Veronica saw this, he’d never hear the end of it.

But finding a mark on his skin left by Pidge’s lips made a lump lodge itself in his throat. He swallowed, trying to loosen it, but it refused to budge.

Lance pulled his feet onto the chair with him and rested his hand over his chest, wondering when it would stop hurting.

* * *

He fell asleep like that, sitting up in his chair in the Red Lion’s cockpit with his forehead resting against his knees, but his phone buzzing in his pocket woke him.

His neck ached from the position, and he leaned back against the headrest with a groan as he lowered his feet and reached into his pocket to take out his phone.

Lance almost answered without glancing at the caller, but the photo flashing across it snagged his gaze. His mouth went dry, and his thumb hovered over the screen, deliberating.

He should pick up, should give her a chance to lay into him for leaving her after he promised to stay, should tell her he just had a stupid nightmare that spooked him, just a dumb manifestation of his anxiety about an equally dumb fortune. So what if he was superstitious enough not to dismiss it so easily?

His heart demanded he pick up the phone, but his brain…

For once, logic won over emotion. A _clean_ break, Lance told himself as he gritted his teeth and declined the call, pretended this artificial glimpse of her face - of her smile - didn’t stab him through the heart. Better he nip whatever lay between him and Pidge in the bud, before it grew out of control.

Before it bloomed to the point where he would only hurt Pidge _more_.

(She’d be _so_ proud of him, he couldn’t help thinking sarcastically.)

He listened to the voice mail a few hours later, once he finally returned home to greet his mother and retreat to his bedroom. He worked up the courage and, expecting reproach, even anger, he pressed play:

 _“Lance, where did you go? You disappeared and I don’t know if you’re dead in a ditch somewhere and Green hasn’t told me much about Red or—you know what?”_ A shaky inhale. _“I’m being stupid; you’re probably fine. You had a nightmare - I have them too, you goofball - so you went for a walk and…left._

_“Okay, f-fine. Just tell me you’re okay, Lance.”_

The voice message ended, and Lance lowered his phone, the first acute hints of regret gripping him at the memory of the cadence in Pidge’s voice.

It would’ve been easier to take if she’d been yelling and screaming, but no, her undeserved concern struck him, burrowing into his chest and making it harder to breathe.

“I’m sorry, Pidge,” he murmured, staring at her contact information on his phone. He pinched his eyes shut and said, “I’m sorry.”

* * *

_“I don’t even know why I’m bothering to call you again…”_

Lance wasn’t sure why he listened to the last of her voice mails on his walk from his sister’s apartment to his destination, not when he needed to be in a festive mood. And yet here he was, with a recording of a resigned Pidge speaking softly into his ear:

_“You know you could’ve said you weren’t coming back, right?”_

He sighed and stuffed his phone back into his pocket as the message ended, her final words ringing through his head.

As he walked, he tugged on the collar of his shirt before undoing the top button. He’d been uncertain of the dress code for the party, but between Hunk’s advice and his own guess, he’d elected to dress a little _nicer_ than his usual attire.

Besides, some pathetic part of him - the one that kicked him every day for avoiding her - hoped to impress Pidge.

If she bothered to show up…

Lance’s feet carried him to the familiar location in Garrison family housing. He forgot how long it had been since he was last here - six months ago? More? - but not much seemed to have changed since then. Drought-resistant plants rather than grass in the front yard, a dark blue mail box with a cartoon rocket ship painted on the side, a soot-stained concrete walkway leading to a front door with—

The door was open, and his breath caught in his throat at the sight of Pidge standing in the doorway.

_Quiznak._

She’d tied her honey-brown hair into a high and neat bun, but flyaway strands framed her face and brushed her cheeks. Her earrings caught the light from street lamps, and she wore a casual maroon dress that belted at the waist and reached just past her knees.

But it left her pale, lightly freckled shoulders exposed, shoulders that Lance once k—

He shook himself before the memory could snag him, but something about Pidge’s almost effortless and unobtrusive beauty made it hard to find his words.

Her eyes widened when they met his, her hands clasped tightly together before she seemed to relax.

Despite the tightening in his chest and the regret twisting his stomach into knots, he finally found the courage to approach.

“What’re y-you doing here?” Lance wondered, internally wincing when his voice cracked.

Her eyebrows drew together in obvious confusion. “There’s a team reunion? And this is my parents’ house.”

And Lance could’ve kicked himself, because why _else_ would she be there?

But his jaw flapped uselessly, searching for something more eloquent and less _obvious_ and funnier to say - perhaps _how are you this lovely evening?_ Or maybe _you look beautiful and I don_ _’t think I’ll be able to take my eyes off you tonight?_ Or even _I_ _’m sorry Pidge I never should’ve left you like that?_ \- than what he actually—

“Lance!”

He jumped at the sound of his name but sighed in relief when it spared him the need to say anything else to Pidge. He grinned widely at the sight of Hunk over her shoulder, a broad smile on his face as he approached.

“You made it!” Hunk exclaimed. When Lance raised his hand, he clasped it in his and pulled him in for a back-breaking hug.

“Yeah…” Lance quirked an eyebrow as he stepped away. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Well, _someone_ was convinced you wouldn’t show.” Hunk shot a look at Pidge, who rolled her eyes and snorted.

“Hurry up and come inside so I can close the door,” Pidge grumbled, standing aside. “I’ve already found two crickets inside today.”

“Bet you shrieked loud enough to wake the dead,” Lance teased before he could stop himself.

Pidge scowled at him, and for a heartbeat he worried she’d slam the door in his face.

It was almost worse when she did and said nothing.

His heart sank, but he entered the Holts’ house, and she closed the door behind him.

“Well,” Pidge said without looking at him, “you’re the last one here, as usual.”

“Does this mean I don’t get any food?” Lance wondered warily.

“My mother saved you a plate of ziti and a couple pieces of garlic bread,” she told him, adding under her breath, “Which is more than you deserve.” She walked away, her pace brisk enough to carry her out of sight before Lance found the wherewithal to defend himself.

And what would be the point? He deserved it.

That didn’t stop something inside him from fracturing.

“Lance,” Hunk said, “did something happen between you and Pidge since the last time I saw you two?”

Lance inhaled sharply, mulling over his words. He couldn’t lie, exactly, not when Hunk would see right through him, and he didn’t know what Pidge might’ve said, if anything.

But he could evade.

Lance plastered a smile onto his face and turned to Hunk. “Do we have to talk about this now? Come on, Hunk; it’s a party! And I haven’t seen you in _months_.” He flung an arm over Hunk’s shoulders and dragged him after Pidge, where he knew everyone else would be waiting for them…and Hunk would let his curiosity rest, for now.

Or so Lance thought.

Hunk halted in place, refusing to budge when Lance nudged him. He crossed his arms and said, “I’m not going in until you tell me why Pidge is mad at you.”

“What? Why?” Lance said, his eyes wide. “It doesn’t—”

“It does,” Hunk insisted, “because Pidge is my friend too, and if something’s up between you, it’s going to ruin everyone’s mood.”

Lance sighed and ran his fingers through his hair, eyes roving around the hallway in search of…an excuse, maybe. But all he found was a framed family photo, Sam in his Garrison officer uniform, Colleen in a neat dress, Matt in the senior cadet uniform, and Pidge with her hair down wearing the lavender dress.

And behind them, the Kerberos mission’s rocket.

His gaze drew back down. A sense of deja vu struck him, the distance between him and Pidge growing wider than the space between stars.

He missed her so much it _hurt_ , his chest aching and his hand itching for the phone in his pocket, and here they stood in the same small house a mere few kilometers from where they met.

“Lance?” Hunk prompted, his hand resting on his shoulder. “You okay there, man?”

Lance shook his head as he forced a shaking breath into his lungs. “I’m not—I screwed up, badly,” he muttered, pressing the heels of his hands over his eyes.

“What…did you do?” Hunk said, a note of wariness in his voice as if he regretted asking.

Lance swallowed around the lump in his throat and lowered his hands, which clenched into fists at his sides. His heart pounded, and he quietly confessed, “We…slept together.”

“You…what do you mean?” Hunk wondered, blinking at him in confusion. “You often—oh, quiznak, the _adult_ way?!”

Lance’s face warmed all the way to the tips of his ears as he grumbled, “What are you, twelve?”

Hunk’s eyes widened, but he frowned and said, “Wait, why would she be mad about that? Are you that bad in bed?”

Lance struggled to rein in his irritation, but he retorted, “I’m not—she was very satisfied, thank you very much!”

At least, he thought so. A flicker of doubt hit him; from how she clung to him, how her breath hitched on his name, he was sure she—

“Okay, too much information,” Hunk said, raising his hands and halting Lance’s thoughts before they tripped into the gutter.

“You asked,” Lance muttered, rolling his eyes.

“And I regret that,” Hunk agreed, “but you’re avoiding the question:  what did you do?”

“It’s…I left after,” Lance admitted. He leaned against the wall and buried his face in his hands, regret making his heart heavy. “I wish I hadn’t.”

“That was…kind of a jerky thing to do,” Hunk said. “I’d be pissed at you too.”

“Good to know,” Lance said, sarcastic.

“I mean, you like her. Why the quiznak would you _leave_?”

Lance jerked his head around to gape at him. “What?”

“Why would you—”

“No, I heard _that_ ,” Lance said. He stood upright, pacing in front of Hunk, and said, “The other thing, the—”

“You like Pidge?”

“Yes, _that_!” His heart pounded wildly, Hunk’s speculation echoing through his head. “Am I—is it really that obvious?”

And if Hunk could see it and say it aloud, then so could the last person - someone he’d made the mistake of being _intimate_ with - that should.

It would all be for nothing if Pidge could see her own pull on his emotions to the way she consumed his thoughts to his memories of that night being both a blessing and a curse.

To the nightmare and the fear it inspired.

But it didn’t stop Lance from trying to deny it. “Why do you think that? Just because I slept with her?”

Hunk shot him an unimpressed glance. “That - because I really never pegged you for the kind of guy to do _that_ with someone you didn’t like - and just…the way you’ve always been around her.” He frowned in contemplation, tapping his chin. “The compliments, the teasing, the inside jokes, the _touching_ , the—”

“Okay, I get it!” Lance knocked his forehead against the wall with a groan.

“Lance, if you like her,” Hunk said, “why did you leave?”

Lance’s mouth went dry. “It’s…I’m…” Afraid of his own feelings? Worried that he and his pathetic underpaying job had nothing to offer? _Terrified_ that they condemned Pidge and would cut her life short?

All of the above?

“It’s complicated,” he settled on.

Hunk sighed, shaking his head. “Well, whatever the reason, you need to apologize and explain. She’ll forgive you.”

 _I can_ _’t tell her,_ Lance thought, although he nodded his acknowledgment. _I can_ _’t tell anyone._

Instead, his shoulders drooped, dread making his heart sink into his gut. “Will she?”

“Lance,” Hunk said exasperatedly, grabbing his arm and steering him towards the living room, “in case you didn’t figure it out during your tryst—”

“Don’t call it that,” Lance said, his skin crawling with heat.

“—Pidge likes you too. If nothing else, she’ll listen.”

“You’re right,” he said, forcing his lips into a smile. At odds with the worry gnawing at him, something fluttered in his chest at the _idea_ that Pidge could feel anything for him.

_“Y-you’re always on my mind.”_

And quiznak, she said as much afterwards too…

Lance should’ve _known_ , should’ve approached the problem with more sensitivity. He should’ve _stayed_.

Or he should’ve never kissed her back at all.

But now he needed to apologize and maybe he could salvage their friendship. If not…well, the last two months alone were torture with nothing but the sound of her recorded voice to keep him company.

Lance steeled himself, squaring his shoulders and stepping past Hunk to continue to the living room. His blood rushed past his ears, but he spared his other teammates a smile when Allura and Romelle called greetings and Keith and Shiro raised their hands in waves.

Pidge sat on an ottoman in the corner of the room, her dog asleep with his head in her lap. She glanced up at the sound of his footsteps, her eyes widening as he approached and leaned down.

She didn't recoil; Lance hoped that was a good sign.

He muttered, "Pidge, can we talk?"

Her lips parted in surprise. "N-now?"

"The sooner, the better," Lance said. "Please?"

Pidge looked from him to the others, and for one heart-stopping moment Lance feared she'd refuse, until she said, "O-okay, sure." She carefully nudged Bae-Bae's head off her lap, leaving him alone on the ottoman, and stood. "We can talk outside."

She led the way out of the living room and through the kitchen - so much cleaner and more _functional_ than her apartment's - to the back door. She slid it open and stepped outside ahead of Lance.

Quiet conversation drifted from indoors, so soft a chorus of crickets almost drowned it out. Sunset had come and gone, the only light sources from the street and people's windows and patios. Shadow hid most of Pidge's face from his view, her eyes just barely shining with reflected light.

But her expectant gaze lay heavily on his face while she waited, her arms crossed and posture closed off.

Lance swallowed and said, "Y-you look—"

"Oh, shove it, Lance," Pidge cut him off immediately. "Just say what you want to so we can go back inside where a cricket won't jump on me."

"I..." Not a good sign at all, but Lance licked his lips and tried again, "Pidge, I'm sorry. I never should've left you like that or avoided your phone calls."

He knew his words struck a nerve at her sharp intake of breath, but he plowed on:

"I swear I had a good reason for leaving, and I didn't meant to hurt you—"

"I-it wasn't about you _leaving_ , Lance," Pidge interrupted scathingly. "That's not why I was—why I _am—_ upset! You _promised_ you'd come back! Or did you forget that already?"

Her accusation cut deeply, his breath catching in his throat. "I—"

But she wasn't finished.

"You know, you could've at least said _no_ when I asked if you were coming back!" she shouted, emotion thick in her voice. "You could've had the decency to tell me you weren't interested in anything else to my _face_!"

"What do you think I'm trying to do now, Pidge?" Lance demanded.

He regretted the thoughtless words as soon as they fell from his tongue.

Pidge sucked in a breath as she flinched away from him. "O-oh," she said numbly.

Lance, desperate to salvage this beyond where it fell, backtracked, "I-I just think this whole...thing proves that we're better off as friends."

"I don't make a habit of sleeping with my friends," Pidge retorted bitterly. She clutched her arms, her face downcast, as she almost rambled, "I can't believe I was dumb enough to think y-you'd want something like a f-future with me. M-maybe it's my fault for going about it all wrong..."

But he barely heard her after _future_ ; his eyes widened, that traitorous warmth in his chest and the question out of his mouth before he could stop it, "Y-you want a future with me?"

"N-not anymore!" Pidge looked like she wanted to throw something at him.

"B-but—" Quiznak, why did his heart feel like it tore in two? He meant to apologize and _fix_ things, and instead he got _this_. "I-it wasn't your fault," Lance tried instead, stepping towards her. "None of this was your fault; it's just...we live too far apart."

"We live on the same quiznaking _planet_ , Lance!" Pidge threw up her hands, in anger or frustration. "That's _nothing_ to our Lions!"

"Th-then my job—"

"Are you _serious_? The Garrison would hire you in a _heartbeat_ if you asked!"

"Then—"

"Y-your excuses are s-so _dumb_ ," Pidge complained. "It's almost like—I don't know!" She clutched her arms, half-turning away from him. "Don't you _want_ to be close to me, Lance?" she said, her voice low.

"O-of course I do!" Lance replied, his voice cracking. "Pidge, I l—"

He cut himself off before the word slipped out of him, his eyes widening in realization. _Quiznak_ , how dumb could he be?

He loved her, but he was hurting her...because he _had_ to.

Lance never felt this way for anyone. No one ever filled his thoughts or incited in him a longing for her presence or mere _closeness_ like this.

And he'd never experienced this chest-clenching, heart-stopping _fear_.

It was Pidge, and it always had been.

"Then if you _want_ to be close," Pidge said, her voice steady despite the unmistakable shine to her eyes, "why wouldn't you _talk_ to me for two months?"

Lance had been sorely unprepared for this, even if he'd been quick enough to expect to face her here. Apologizing wasn't nearly enough, not when her questions gave him a challenge unlike anything he'd ever faced.

He’d rather face an enemy’s interrogation again.

The truth sat on the tip of his tongue, itching to escape. But since when was _fear_ a valid excuse?

"F-fine," Pidge said when the silence dragged on too long, "don't tell me, but c-can you at least answer my next question?"

Lance nodded. "A-anything."

"Quit lying to me, Lance," she said, a sniff escaping her.

If she started crying in front of him, he didn't think he'd be able to keep himself from reaching for her...

"D-do you still have feelings for Allura?" Pidge muttered. “W-was I just some easy consolation p-prize?”

There was no way out of this for him, Lance began to see, so he shoved away the guilt and lied, "Y-yeah."

She inhaled shakily, emitting a louder sniffle, and said, "Th-then that's that. I-I just—I have to—" She spun on her heel and fled inside through the wide-open door.

Lance reached after her, grabbing for her wrist before she disappeared. "Wait, Pidge! K-Katie!"

But her real name came out strangled - it was unfamiliar on his tongue, as he'd scarcely spoken it aloud before.

He didn’t know if it was strength or weakness that kept him from chasing after her.

Lance rubbed his eyes, surprised when his fingers came away damp, although he shouldn’t be, not when he just broke the love of his life’s heart.

He didn’t realize how silent it got inside until his friends’ conversation resumed. Hunk’s voice stood out when he said, “I’ll go talk to her.”

An angry heat burned in his stomach - _he_ should be the one comforting her, never mind that he was the reason for her to be upset - but he stayed outside to compose himself. His chest ached all over again, the brief hope for a return to their easy friendship ignited when he began his apology snuffed out.

This was what he wanted, wasn’t it? With Pidge keeping her distance, there was no chance they’d _ever_ get married, and she would be safe.

(How did he go from “future”, to love, to _marriage_ in one night after not speaking to her for months?)

“Lance?”

Allura’s concerned voice pulled him from his thoughts, and he looked up to see her standing in the doorway, framed by a soft light.

“H-hey, Allura,” he said, stifling a sniffle as he wiped his nose with his sleeve.

Her footsteps approached, soft on the concrete patio, and she rested a hand on his shoulder. "Are you—"

"G-great!" Lance said with a painful smile. He blinked tears from his eyes, the star-studded sky and artificial lights streaming through the neighbors' windows blurring in his vision, and turned towards Allura. "We just had a fight," he told her. "No big deal."

If it was "no big deal", then why did it _hurt_ so much?

Lance wished he could take back the words, take back the months of silence, take back the quiznaking _nightmare_ that haunted him. He longed to live in ignorance - why hadn't he listened to Keith and not paid in blood for that stupid fortune? - and to build a life with Pidge and—

And watch her die on their wedding day? _Ignorance_ wouldn't change her fate, and Pidge herself would be the first to remind him that knowledge was power.

Even as regret settled deep in his bones, Lance told himself he'd done the right thing, cutting off whatever fledgling romance they had, to suffer heartbreak now rather than a worse heartbreak to come.

He had nothing to feel guilty for.

"If I may ask," Allura said, raising an eyebrow, "what did you and Pidge argue about?"

Lance grimaced. "She—we—"

"You don't have to tell me," Allura quickly said, her hands up. "I just worry that, if worse comes to worst, our teamwork will suffer."

"Th-there's an easy fix for that, isn't there?" Lance said. "Don't send us on the same missions anymore."

Allura frowned. "Lance, you and P—"

"It'll be fine," Lance promised. "W-we probably just need some space from each other; guess even Earth isn't big enough for both of us." His heart sank, heavy with dread, but if it was what Pidge needed...

"Then perhaps you'll consider visiting me," Allura suggested. "I mean, New Altea!" She smiled sheepishly and added, "I know it's not your home, but—"

"Sure," Lance said. He stuffed his hands into his pockets and shrugged. "I could use the vacation, especially if it means I don't have to clean anymore bathrooms. What's the point of being a princess's guest if you have to clean a bathroom?"

Allura chuckled and reassured him, "No, you won't have to clean any bathrooms. And if you like, your family members can come with you?"

"Uh..." Lance sighed and admitted, "I...think they're happy enough here, even for vacations."

Right, he'd be away from his parents and Veronica and all the rest if he left too, however temporarily.

"Well, just know the invitation extends to them."

"Okay," Lance said. He glanced over his shoulder, back inside, just barely making out Keith, Romelle, and Shiro talking animatedly.

Hunk joined a beat later, and Lance stepped past Allura and back into the Holts' house.

"Hunk," Lance said, "is Pidge—"

He interrupted him with an almost harsh smack on the shoulder and a deep frown. "She doesn't want to talk to you, man, and no, I don't think she is."

Lance pinched his eyes shut, conscious of his friends' gazes fixed on him. "Then I should go," he decided, trying to ignore the pain in his chest and the way his feet wanted to point him towards the stairs...towards Pidge. "Sorry I killed the mood," he said to the room, forcing a smile onto his face. "I'll miss you guys till the next time we see each other."

Keith stood. "What happened?"

"I'll let Pidge fill you in," Lance said. He turned to the hallway and added, "Is Mrs. Holt around? My mother would flip if I forgot to thank the hosts."

"What's going on?" The new voice from the hallway made him flinch and spin around in time to see Colleen Holt standing there with her arms crossed. "Leaving already?"

"Yeah, I'd better." Lance smiled and offered his hand. "Thank you for having me."

"You're welcome..." Colleen shook his hand, although her eyes were wide and confused, and as she walked him to the door she paused at the foot of an adjacent set of stairs to shout, "Katie, are you coming to say goodbye to Lance?"

Lance's heartbeat filled the long pause until Hunk said, "I-I don't think she's coming back downstairs till after he leaves."

His shoulders slumped, disappointment weighing him down, as Colleen's eyes flicked from Lance's face to the stairs. "I...see," she said.

To his relief, she didn't comment further.

To his grief, her eyes held more reproach than all his teammates' gazes combined.

It took less than a few paces down the sidewalk for Lance to reach into his pocket and pull out his phone. He let his fingertip hover over Pidge's contact information, staring at her picture - one more glimpse of her happy - and debating calling just to leave her a voice mail.

Eventually, he found the three she left him and listened to them one by one, memorizing her tone from the near-teasing and irritation of the first to the concern of the second to the dejection and controlled anger of the last.

Lance deleted all of them.

Distance would do them both some good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rue (paraphrased) after reading this chapter: I still feel bad for Lance but I'm mostly just mad at him
> 
> ~~can you tell i hate crickets~~

**Author's Note:**

> comments are always appreciated <333


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